


The Princess and the Septa

by Julia_Martell



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dorne, During Canon, Father-Daughter Relationship, Feminist Themes, Gen, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Two POVs, complicated family dynamics, patriarchy brain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:26:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4141185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julia_Martell/pseuds/Julia_Martell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Septa Eglantine's duty was to accompany Myrcella to Dorne. Princess Arianne's duty was to graciously receive her. But neither woman was quite prepared for the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey from Braavos to Sunspear gives everyone time to think.

When they were safely in Braavos, ensconced in the Sea Lord’s palace, Septa Eglantine washed the dye out of Princess Myrcella’s hair. She had entered the city an unremarkable bedmaid in wool and linen, and she would leave it a golden-haired princess in velvet and cloth of silver.

Eglantine felt some of her own anxiety wash out along with the drab brown colour. The constant fear had been hard to deal with, and hiding it from Myrcella had been harder still. It was all a game, she had told her. “Won’t it be funny to trick all the sailors and guardsmen?” But Myrcella was a clever child, and there were times when Eglantine imagined that she was staring into the horizon with the same fear that the septa had: that a ship would appear flying the banner of Stannis Baratheon. And then they would have to test just how well the ruse would work, but she assured herself that it was all her own fancy. Myrcella knew nothing; it was only her own fears that were infecting the child.

She knew there was a war, how could she not, and she knew that there were traitors in the realm who were happy to spread lies about her brother for their own ends, but there was no need for her to know the danger of sailing right past Dragonstone. Her mother and her uncle were both insistent on that.

“If the ship is taken,” Tyrion Lannister had told the septa, “Princess Myrcella must be kept safe, by means fair or foul.”

And so he had landed on the idea of Myrcella’s distant cousin, Rosamund Lannister, coming with them as a bedmaid and companion, but also as a shield. The two girls looked nothing alike to Eglantine, apart from the colour of their hair, but it was more than enough to fool those who knew neither of them.

Rosamund was a sweet child, and always cheerful. She certainly deserved better than the peril she was placed in.

But the Seven had spared them. The worst part of the journey was over.

Myrcella had been so very brave. She hadn’t cried when her lady mother told her she would be leaving her home to ward with the Prince of Dorne, and she hadn’t cried when the whole court processed to the river to see her off. Myrcella didn’t cry at all until they arrived in Braavos and washed the dye from her hair.

Maybe that was when she could no longer believe it was a game.

“Dorne is so far away!” she said through tears, “what if I never see Tommen again?”

Eglantine took her in her arms and tried to comfort her. “ I was only a little older than you when my father told me that I was promised to the Faith,” she said. “I was frightened at first; I didn’t know what to expect from my new life, but I took solace in knowing that I was obeying my father. I trusted that he could judge what was best for me.”

She had cried too, as soon as her father couldn’t see. Her sisters had tried to comfort her, but the sight of them only added to her despair. They were all pretty enough, her sisters, but she was a large, graceless child, and a poor landed knight with too many daughters had little hope of finding a man who would have her.

In the end, she had been grateful. _There has been much in the religious life that has brought me great happiness_ , she told herself.

“Only the Crone knows what the future will bring, child,” she said to Myrcella, “but if you’re a dutiful daughter, and a dutiful wife, the gods will bless you. They bless those who do their duty most of all.”

That evening, they dined with the party of Dornish knights Prince Doran had sent to escort them to Sunspear.

Myrcella was subdued, and Eglantine didn’t blame her. The half-dozen Dornishmen seemed incongruous in the fog and cold of Braavos. Their brightly coloured clothing was an almost petulant expression of how misplaced they were. Their leader was not as petulant as the others, however.

Ser Ryon Allyrion spoke like a Dornishman, and dressed like a Dornishman, but Eglantine would never to able to accuse him of looking like a Dornishman. He was tall, with bright blue eyes and light brown hair, and all the courtesies a courtier could wish for.

“If the winds are kind, we may be in Sunspear in as little as three weeks, my princess,” he told Myrcella.

“So soon?” Myrcella asked. “And what if the winds aren’t kind?”

“A hundred oarsmen can make their own wind,” Ser Ryon said. “Either way, Prince Trystane won’t be suffering without you for long.”

She fell silent at the mention of her betrothed. Myrcella has asked very little about Trystane Martell in King’s Landing, and had been told even less. The queen had found it difficult to hide her disappointment over the match and her daughter had always been sensitive to her opinions. He was a second son, heir to nothing.

“You’re a lioness,” Queen Cersei had told her, “far better than what any Dornishman has a right to expect. But these things are decided for us, and we have to make the best of them.”

To the septa she had been even more blunt. “If I have my way, this marriage will never take place,” the queen said, “but it may be true that she’s safer in Sunspear than she is here.”

In Eglantine’s mind, sending Myrcella to Sunspear would make the marriage hard to get out of, but Cersei Lannister had a way of making things happen. She was everything a queen should be: strong and womanly, a fulfillment of what was still only a promise in Myrcella. “As you say, Your Grace.”

“But the poor girl may be there for some time,” the queen continued. “Thank the gods she’s so young. The Martells won’t be able to insist on a marriage for years.”

“No indeed, Your Grace.”

“And the Dornishmen must never forgot who she is,” Queen Cersei said, “and they will try, the Martells have always been proud.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Eglantine agreed.

“And even if they do, she must not; Myrcella is my daughter, she must never forget that,” the queen said with fire in her eyes. “We’re sending Ser Arys to guard her, but you must guard her too. Dorne will be dangerous.”

After they had all finished eating the princess and her cousin were sent off to bed with promises of sailing away at first light, Ser Ryon addressed Arys Oakheart in a far less jovial manner.

“We heard in Pentos that Stannis has laid siege to Storm’s End,” he said.

“That’s grievous news,” the Kingsguard Knight said. “We can only hope that the castle will be as resistant to siege as it’s been in the past.”

“It will have to be a very long siege indeed,” Ser Ryon said. “I suppose you heard before departing that the northmen have passed the Golden Tooth into the westerlands.”

“Yes,” Ser Arys said gravely.

“Well, Lord Tywin has left Harrenhal to meet them. He’s marching west, not south.”

“May the Warrior protect us,” Eglantine said. She knew almost nothing about battles and sieges and other things that were the domain of worldly men, but she knew enough to know that once Lord Stannis took Storm’s End, his eye would turn on King’s Landing. And if the power of House Lannister was in the westerlands…

“And may He protect the king,” Ser Arys Oakheart said piously.

Ser Ryon offered no prayer of his own, but only smiled. “It may be grievous news for the war, but it could prove fortunate for our enterprise. If all of Stannis’s sails are in Shipbreaker Bay they can hardly molest us.”

The next morning they passed under the Titan of Braavos right as the horn was blowing. Eglantine wrapped Myrcella and Rosamund up against the foggy chill and allowed them to stand on the deck to marvel at it.

Eglantine marvelled with them. The excitement of knowing she was seeing one of the world’s great wonders made her feel as though she was a girl again herself, when she lived for the time she could spend in the small library of the Mother House, pouring over maps and tales of holy men who travelled in the service of the Faith. Septa Anelle took her aside one day to scold her. “The Seven teach us to pray, and work with our hands and our minds,” she had said, “They don’t teach us to waste time dreaming that we can be somewhere else. It stinks of ingratitude, child.”

She had mourned the loss of her books and her imaginings, but she learned to govern herself. And in the end the Seven had granted her prayers. In caring for the king’s sister she had seen more than she imagined she could have: Casterly Rock, and King’s Landing, the Trident, Winterfell, the great Titan of Braavos.

They were a tiny fleet of four ships, with purple hulls and purple sails, and larger cabins than Eglantine had expected. The weather was blessed too, the Braavosi Coastline raced past them and every day seemed sunnier. Myrcella came alive onboard. She loved to stand at the bow of the ship and let the wind blow on her face, and she could spend hours just watching the oars dip into the water and listening to the beating of the master’s drum.

Eglantine needed all her firmness to keep Myrcella on any kind of steady course of lessons, or prayer, or needlework. She set her to reading Daeron’s account of his conquest and to learning the names of all the princes of Dorne since Aegon’s landing. She learned them quickly, as she learned everything quickly, but she was far more interested in living princes than dead ones.

“And now the Prince’s name is Doran,” she recited one morning, a few days before they were due to take on water in Tyrosh. “Doran Nymeros Martell. And his lady wife’s name is Mellario of Norvos.” Myrcella giggled, “I think that’s a silly sounding name.”

“Don’t say so to Prince Doran,” Eglantine told her, though she hardly thought the girl had so little sense. “In fact, child, it would be best if you took care not to mention Lady Mellario at all when you’re in Sunspear.”

“Yes, septa,” she said. She crinkled her brow like she always did when she was impertinently curious, “Why not?”

Eglantine frowned at that. It was well known, even in King’s Landing, that Prince Doran hadn’t lived with his wife for many years, that eight years ago she had returned to Norvos and hadn’t been seen in Dorne since, but the septa could find no clear answer as to why. Though she knew enough about great ladies to imagine how intolerable a husband’s behaviour would have to be to prompt such a public breach.

“You needn’t concern yourself with that, my love,” she finally said, “she won’t be there to greet us, so there can be no reason to discuss her.”

Prince Doran wouldn’t be there to greet them either, Myrcella discovered when she asked Ser Ryon about him.

“The Prince hasn’t been in Sunspear for quite some time,” the Dornish knight said. “His health isn’t what it once was, I’m afraid.”

Myrcella seemed disappointed, “Then who will be there to meet me?”

“Princess Arianne will be there for a certainty, the Prince’s daughter and heir,” he said, “she was already deep into preparations when we left. And Prince Oberyn will be there as well, I imagine.”

“Prince Oberyn is Prince Doran’s younger brother,” Myrcella stated.

“Indeed he is,” agreed Ser Ryon.

“Septa,” Myrcella asked when they were at their needlework later that same day, “if Prince Trystane is Prince Doran’s son and Princess Arianne is his daughter, how can she be his heir and not him?”

“I’ve already explained that to you, my love,” Eglantine said, “in Dorne, women inherit before their younger brothers.”

“Still?” Myrcella asked. “I thought that was only a long time ago.”

“Still,” the septa confirmed, “when Dorne joined the Seven Kingdoms it was agreed that they would be able to keep their own laws. Do you remember when that was?”

Myrcella nodded, “During the reign of Good King Daeron. But why wouldn’t they want to have the same laws as everyone else?”

“Because Dornishmen are stubborn,” Rosamund Lannister said sagely. “That’s what my father says. And they don’t like it when other people tell them what to do, not even the king.”

“Now Rosamund,” Eglantine said, “you shouldn’t repeat such things. The Dornish are loyal to the king.”

“Yes septa, of course,” the girl said.

They had left Tyrosh behind the next time Myrcella started asking Eglantine questions.

“What is Princess Arianne like?”

“Princess Arianne?” Eglantine asked. “I would hardly know, child. Why should you ask about her?”

Myrcella shrugged, “I don’t know,” she said, “I’ve never met another princess before.”

“Please, Myrcella don’t shrug your shoulders like that,” Eglantine told her. “It’s very inelegant.”

“I’m sorry septa,” she said, straightening her back, “but what is Princess Arianne like? Please tell me.”

The septa knew little enough, other than that the princess was hardly ever seen outside Dorne, and that she was two-and-twenty and still unmarried, even though the heirs to Highgarden and Riverrun had been among her suitors.

“Princess Arianne is a woman grown,” she said finally, “I doubt she will give much thought to a little girl. It’s Prince Trystane you should be concerning yourself with pleasing.”

Eglantine saw some of the colour drain out of Myrcella’s face and she was almost sorry for speaking so harshly. But she told herself that the sooner the child reconciled herself to her duty, the happier she’d be.

“If he doesn’t like me,” she asked in a whisper, “will I still have to marry him?”

Eglantine was shocked. “If you’re gracious and ladylike, and you always treat the prince with the respect that’s due to your future husband, then of course he will like you.”

“Yes,” she said hesitantly, “but what if he doesn’t?”

Eglantine forgot all her resolutions to be stern. She enfolded Myrcella in her arms and stroked her hair. In the five-and-twenty years since she had left the Mother House she had cared for a dozen high-born girls and she had loved them all, but Myrcella had always been special. She gave her the advice she imagined she would have given her own daughter, if the gods had granted her one.

“Do you remember what I told you in Braavos, my love?” she said. “If you do your duty, the gods will bless you. The Mother will bless you with sons and the Warrior will bless you with protection. And your love for your husband will guide you in everything.”

“But what if I don’t love him?” she asked. Her voice was so quiet that Eglantine could only just hear her.

She pushed the child away from her a little more roughly than she intended. “Myrcella! How could you?” she said. “Get below to your cabin and pray to the Maiden to forgive you. And don’t come out again until you’re prepared to tell me why what you just said was unpardonably wicked.”

The princess burst into tears, but she obeyed.

The next day, after Myrcella had confessed, she seemed to take the septa’s correction to heart. She and Rosamund stood on the deck with Ser Ryon and Myrcella peppered him with questions about her betrothed.

“Will Prince Trystane be a knight?” she asked.

“Perhaps he will be,” the man said.

“Doesn’t he like fighting?”

“I suppose he likes it well enough, my lady, but I think there are other things he enjoys more.”

“What other things?”

“Well, I know the prince is very fond of dancing and music.”

“I’m very fond of music too.” she said. “Do you think, ser, if I learned some Dornish songs Prince Trystane would want to hear me?”

“I don’t doubt he’d be very pleased to.”

“I’m not very good, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sure you’re too modest, my princess.”

“No, I don’t think so… Does Princess Arianne like music too?”

“I would never presume to say what Princess Arianne likes.”

“Are she and Prince Trystane close?”

“Yes, I believe they’re very close.”

“I was very close to my brother too.”

“You make me quite envious, I have no brothers or sisters at all.”

“Not even any sisters?”

“No, none at all.”

“Do you know Prince Trystane well? Do you see him often?”

“I see him quite often, my princess,” Ser Ryon replied, “though not as often as I did when my son was still Prince Oberyn’s squire.”

“I didn’t know you had a son.”

“Yes,” he laughed, “I have three of them.”

“Oh.”

“Is Prince Trystane handsome?” Rosamund Lannister asked.

Myrcella was shocked. “You can’t ask Ser Ryon if Prince Trystane is handsome!” she told her cousin.

“Why not?” Rosamund asked.

“Because all princes are handsome,” Ser Ryon quipped.

“There, you see?” Myrcella said smugly, “I told you.”

A little more than a week later, they finally saw Sunspear.

Myrcella and Rosamund jumped up and down and squealed with delight as soon as the castle came into view. Eglantine scolded them fiercely. “Girls! What are you thinking making such a spectacle of yourselves? That’s no way for a princess and her companion to behave in public.”

But the children didn’t seem to hear her; they were both in raptures.

“Oh Ser Arys,” Myrcella said, “isn’t it as lovely as you imagined?”

Ser Arys Oakheart seemed determined not to be impressed. “The Red Keep is a good deal larger, my lady,” he said, “so is Storm’s End, and Highgarden.”

“But it’s so pretty!” Rosamund said.

It was true, the castle was beautiful. Its sandstone walls seemed to sparkle in the glaring light as though there were a million imperceptibly tiny diamonds shot throughout them. She knew the names of the three great towers; she had learned them even as she taught them to Myrcella and Rosamund.

The Spear Tower was the first thing they saw, it was long and thin, topped with a golden spire like a spearhead. The Tower of the Sun was far lower and larger, with a great dome all of gold leaf and leaded glass. Nymeria had built it in the style of her lost kingdom on the Rhoyne.

Those thousands of women who had fled with her must have longed for a piece of their old home. All Eglantine had ever read told her that the cities of the Rhoyne had been lush and full of colour. Sunspear didn’t seem like that at all; it floated in a heat-haze. The only colours were shades of brown and yellow and red.

The great central keep at Sunspear was call the Sandship, built in the shape of a galley, complete with carved sandstone oars. It was the oldest part of the fortress, the stronghold of House Martell in the days before that great house had conquered all of Dorne.

The shadow city spread out westward from the castle; Sunspear was surrounded by sea on three sides. It looked cramped and noisy, though it was not a fifth the size of King’s Landing.

There were greeted with a regal, but rather quiet, ceremony. Certainly quiet when compared to the send off Myrcella had received. A barge festooned with golden suns and red and orange desert orchids came up alongside the galley and Arianne Martell boarded the ship with the rest of the Dornish welcoming party.

She looked splendid, and every inch a princess. She wore a red and yellow damask gown with sleeves of gauzy yellow silk and bands of gold and rubies on her arms and across her brow. The princess seemed so bright that Eglantine had to squint when she looked at her. And she was beautiful, at least the septa supposed she was, though in a dark, voluptuous kind of way that was quite unfashionable. Her younger brother came along with her. Prince Trystane was dressed just as richly, but he was a boy where his sister was a woman. He was twelve, and tall for his age, with the olive skin and black hair that Dornishmen were known for. He fidgeted and looked about distractedly as Myrcella read the letter from the king they had carried with them. They had practised it so often she must have known it by heart, but now that the time had come her hands and her voice both shook.

“. _.. in the hopes that this union with our beloved sister will strengthen the bond between us and our leal subjects in Dorne..._ ”

When Myrcella finished she looked around in terror at all the eyes on her, completely unsure of what to do, but Princess Arianne came forward and took both of Myrcella’s hands in hers and kissed her warmly on the cheek. She even had a smile and a kiss for Rosamund Lannister. Both girls looked up at her adoringly.

“Come meet Trystane.” She lead Myrcella to where the prince stood, still looking determinedly somewhere else. He started when they came near, but managed a bow. “Give Princess Myrcella a kiss, brother,” Princess Arianne prompted him. He blushed, but did as he was told. Myrcella blushed too.

The barge rowed them to the quay where thirty Dornish knights and ladies waited for them, with twice as many spearmen in glittering copper and silver. The people of Sunspear had come out in droves as well; they cheered when Myrcella came into view.

Prince Oberyn waited for them as they disembarked. The Red Viper, men called him, and he looked as fearsome as his reputation. He was tall and slim, with a pointed nose, a pointed widow’s peak, and dark eyes that regarded them all pointedly. He didn’t have even a hint of his niece’s warmth. When he was presented to Myrcella he gave her the slightest nod before turning his back on her. Princess Arianne was visibly upset by his discourtesy, but the septa was impressed by how quickly she recovered. She took Myrcella by the hand and led her towards the open litter that would take them the short way to the castle.

As they left the quayside there was a small alarm when a child in a bright yellow dress broke through the line of spearmen and ran towards them. Ser Arys put his hand on his sword hilt and pushed Myrcella behind him, but none of the Dornishmen seemed concerned when the girl went right up to Princess Arianne, curtsied, and presented her with a bunch of rather wilted flowers. When the princess bent down to receive them the cheering was deafening.  

The entire party was forced to stand and wait while she lingered, asking the child questions and favouring her with the same smile she had given Myrcella. Eglantine looked at the faces in the mob and realized that not one of them had come to see her princess.

The young prince and his betrothed sat upon silk cushions on raised seats near the front of the litter while the septa sat behind them with Rosamund and Ser Arys. The knight seemed not at all happy with the arrangement; he craned his neck to watch the people who lined the streets suspiciously. Eglantine chose to watch the children instead.

Prince Trystane was looking ahead of them, at the matched white horses that pulled the litter and the Winding Walls of the city, getting closer with every moment. Myrcella was constantly stealing glances at him and blushing every time she looked away again.

Eglantine frowned. When the late king, Myrcella’s father, had taken the royal family up to Winterfell, Myrcella was always giggling and blushing at Robb Stark. The septa had spoken to her then about false modesty, and it appeared she needed to do so again.

“The Threefold Gate is the only way to get directly into the Old Palace,” Myrcella said suddenly.

“What?” Trystane Martell said. He blushed scarlet and recollected himself. “I meant, I beg your pardon, my princess?”

Myrcella repeated herself and added, “I read about it in _The Conquest of Dorne_.”

The prince turned even redder. “That book is stupid,” he said.

“Oh,” Myrcella said. She looked down at her hands. “I didn’t know that.”

They had passed through the first of the three gates before the child worked up the courage to try again. “I like your doublet,” she said before looking away and blushing. Again.

“Oh,” the boy said, “thank you.” It was a fine garment, Eglantine had to admit, with orange sleeves slashed with cloth-of-gold and buttons shaped like suns. “I like your gown,” he said. “It’s very... green.”

Her gown may have been green, but her face was red. “Thank you.” She busied herself smoothing her skirts with her hands. “I wasn’t allowed to wear any of my nice things on the voyage. They were all locked in chests below.”

The young prince nodded sagely. “Because of the pirates.”

“What?” Myrcella’s eyes went wide. “I mean, what, my prince?”

“Pirates always look for richly dressed ladies on the deck when they choose which ship to attack.”

Myrcella considered, “I suppose that’s why. And it must have worked because we didn’t see any pirates.”

Prince Trystane seemed disappointed. “None at all?” he asked. “What about corsairs?”

“No,” she said, “we saw a whale once.” Myrcella looked him in the face and didn’t blush. “What’s the difference between a pirate and a corsair?”

He frowned. “I don’t know,” he said, “you should ask my uncle.”

Myrcella went pale. “Is he a pirate?” she whispered. Eglantine groaned at that, though Rosamund giggled.

Prince Trystane laughed, but not unkindly. “No,” he said, “at least, I don’t think he ever was. He was a sellsword once.”

“Really?”

Her betrothed nodded. “So maybe he fought pirates, or corsairs,” he said. “You should ask him.”

“No, I couldn’t do that.” She looked apprehensively behind the litter to where the man they were speaking of was riding with his niece and the rest of the Dornishmen.

Prince Trystane leaned in to whisper in her ear, “He wasn’t very courteous to you, was he?” Eglantine frowned when Myrcella shook her head. “Don’t worry,” the young prince said, “my sister will yell at him and then he’ll be nicer. He didn’t want to come at all until Ellaria talked him into it.”

“Who’s Ellaria?”

“My uncles paramour,” the prince said simply.

Eglantine’s heart leapt and she cut in quickly. “Child,” she said to Myrcella, “Prince Trystane has had enough chatter.”

“We weren’t chattering,” said Prince Trystane, “we were talking.”

“Smile and wave at the people now,” Eglantine told them, “they’ve all come out to see you.”

“Yes, septa,” Myrcella said.

They reach the outer ward of the castle, Prince Trystane hopped out and turned to help Myrcella down himself. “Arianne,” he said to his sister, “can I show Princess Myrcella to her chambers?”

The princess seemed surprised, but also very amused. “Of course,” she said, “if you wish.”

“Come on,” he said to Myrcella. He ran up a short flight of steps, through an open gate, and out of sight.

Myrcella looked at Eglantine uncertainly.

“Go on then,” Princess Arianne said.

Myrcella giggled, took Rosamund Lannister by the hand, and ran up the steps after the young prince.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a few hours’ diversion.

Arianne awoke at dawn, just as she had every day of her life. Petra came into her bedchamber and threw the curtains of the window open so that the faint morning light fell on her face.

“Good morning, my princess,” she said.

“Good morning,” Arianne mumbled. She pushed Drey’s arm from across her chest and rolled out of bed. He murmured in his sleep, but otherwise didn’t seem to notice at all when she left him to go to her dressing room and change into her riding clothes. Within a quarter of an hour, she was cantering out through the gate of the palace and along the beach to the north of the shadow city.

The land around Sunspear was the best in Dorne for growing olives, so the groves stretched out in all directions but the sea. Arianne left the beach and turned to ride down an avenue that was lined with trees in full blossom. Just before she reached a small plank bridge over an irrigation canal she saw the start of a dirt path that made its steep and winding way up to a bluff overlooking the sea, crowned with an old tumbledown watchtower.

It had been years since Arianne had taken that path, for all the hundreds of times she had passed it, but this morning some strange compulsion found her halfway up the rise before she realized it. At the top, she let her horse graze on the sparse brown grass as she climbed up the crumbling interior steps of the tower to the parapets.

The view was breathtaking. To the west was a sea of olive blossoms; tiny white petals were lifted in the morning breeze. To the east was a rippling sea of sparkling water. The air was so clear that Arianne fancied that she could see clear across to Lys. The sun had risen just enough that it touched its own reflection at the horizon. To the south, the Old Palace looked like a pretty toy. She could almost pick up the Sandship and set it floating on the sea like she used to do with paper boats in the fountains at the Water Gardens.

Half the merlons had fallen down. Most of them had probably fallen long before she was born, but one had stood perfectly well until eight years or so before when Daemon had picked her up and pressed her back against it. The merlon had crumpled as though it were made of dry sand. Arianne would have fallen the sixty feet with the old stones, if her legs hadn’t been wrapped around his waist. When they had finished he had carved her name into one of the remaining stones while she laughed at him for ruining a perfectly good dagger. It was still there. She ran her fingers across the letters incised in the rock. They had hardly weathered at all. Eight years wasn’t so long.

 _I have other daggers, but I only have one princess_. Arianne pushed at the stone angrily with the heel of her hand and it went over the edge with the rest of its companions.

The sound of a horse’s frightened whinny made her lean over the edge in panic, but the stone had missed him by a good mark. It would have been so like her, to kill her own horse.

By the time she got back to Sunspear both the city and the palace was beginning the wake up in earnest. The corridors were crowded with servants going about their business and the yard was noisy with the sound of swordplay, but Drey was still in bed with the covers over his head. He groaned when she threw them off him.

“Go away,” he said groggily, “it’s not even dawn yet.”

“Dawn was almost two hours ago,” Arianne corrected. She gasped happily when he grabbed her hips and pulled her down on top of him. “You should be out hitting other men with sticks about now.”

He flipped her over onto her back and started working at the laces of her over-tunic, “I couldn’t possibly,” he said, “you quite exhausted me.”

“Yes,” she said sarcastically, “you seem excessively exhausted at the moment.”

Drey smirked at her before he moved downwards and threw her skirts up out of his way. She lay back on the pillows and laughed as he pushed her thighs apart.

Afterwards Arianne sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Drey drew his arms around her and kissed her neck.

“You should stay in bed a while longer.”

“No, I shouldn’t,” she told him, “and neither should you.”

He pressed up against her and squeezed her breast, “What, do you have important princess things to do?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” she said with a smile. Hoping a smile would hide her annoyance.

“Forget them and stay in bed.”

“No!” She stood up and frowned at the look of mocking sadness on his face. Andrey Dalt had been her friend all her life, and she loved him, but even she had to admit he wasn’t good for much besides bed sport and shallow japery. “Come and have breakfast with us.” She left him without waiting for an answer.

Back in her dressing room, she put on a gown of green silk edged with black pearls and sat for an extraordinarily long time as Petra arranged her hair. “It will be worth it, my princess, I promise,” the maid assured her.

Tyene came in and looked at her exasperated.

“We’re all hungry,” she said simply. “What have you been doing all this time?”

Arianne rolled her eyes at her. When they joined the rest of her ladies in her sitting room, not one of them seemed to think that her hair was worth being kept waiting for their breakfast. They ate eggs with bacon and peppers and talked about the war.

“But if Storm’s End really is taken...” started Delna Wyl.

“Of course it’s really taken,” said Lady Meria Wade, “what would it gain anyone to lie about it?”

“Well, why does everyone think he’ll move on to King’s Landing?”

“Because he has to,”  Meria said, “you can’t be king unless you hold King’s Landing.”

“If I were him, I wouldn’t do what everyone was expecting,” Delna declared.

“And what would you do,” Lady Wade asked scornfully, “attack up the Boneway?”

“Maybe,” she said, “or join the northmen in the westerlands.”

“I wouldn’t worry about either of those things,” was all that Arianne said.

She left the three of them and went to her solar to see the seneschal about a minor crisis involving the court musicians who were insisting on an increase in their pay, and a more serious one about the theft of some gold plate. She went down to the kitchen and decided on the next weeks worth of dinners, then to the Spear Tower to look over the Lord Treasurer's accounts. Then afterwards she looked over them again because there was nothing left for her to do, and it still lacked two hours of noon.

Arianne returned to her bedchamber to fetch that history of Volantis she had promised herself she would finish that week, only to find that Drey was still snoring in her bed.

She grabbed an embroidered cushion from the window seat and threw it at him; it hit him squarely in the eye.

“Get up!” the princess commanded, “Out of bed with you!”

Drey got up just enough to throw the cushion back at her.

She retrieved it and whacked him about the head and chest a few times. He laughed and tried to grab her but she didn’t think he was funny. She pushed away, “If you want to lay about all day, you shan’t do it in _my_ bed.”

“Ow,” he said, “you would be in a better mood if you didn’t insist on waking up so early.”

She hit him with the cushion again, “The day is half gone, you idiot,” she told him, “now get out or I’ll have you dragged out naked into the courtyard.”

Arianne meant every word, and he must have seen that, because he stopped laughing for once and got himself dressed and out her door in a few minutes.

She regretted being so harsh with him the moment he was gone, but it hardly mattered. The whole thing would be forgotten the next time she saw him.

The Tower of the Sun seemed as quiet as a tomb. Usually her little cousins were running around, arguing, knocking things over, and filling the place with noise, but her uncle had taken them all to Hellholt within two days of the Lannister girl’s arrival. He didn’t seem to care that everyone saw through his feeble excuses.

And the child he was running away from never made noise or knocked anything over.

Tyene and Delna were at work together by the window. Arianne soon gave up on her book and tried to join them, but sewing up banners held as little attraction to her this morning as tortuously convoluted High Valyrian prose. She did little better with the letter to her mother she had started two days ago. It was sitting on her writing desk with nothing written but “Dearest Mother.”

She stared at it for a while, wondering what she could possibly say.

“ _Dearest Mother, nothing here has changed at all for the past two years at least. Not even a Lannister princess can shake us out of our state of complacency. Your son is growing into a fine young man, though neither you nor I can take any credit for it. If you want to know how your husband gets on, you’ll have to ask someone else. Love from, your daughter_.”

She crumpled up the paper and threw her quill down in frustration.

Tyene came over to sit by her. She smiled in that knowing way she had.

“Come on,” Arianne said. They climbed down two flights of stairs to Princess Myrcella’s rooms.

Inside the little girl's sitting room it was also the same as it ever was. After only two weeks, Arianne already felt that she could tell the time of day quite reliably by what Princess Myrcella was doing.

The ladies were sitting now. They had gotten up in time for the first prayers in the sept. Then they broke their fast, and then the little princess and her cousin had their lessons. Then they had gone for a stroll in the garden. Perhaps, if they had been feeling very adventurous they’d have stopped in the covered gallery to watch the boys work at their swordplay for a while. And now they were sitting quietly to recover from the exertion.  

And soon they would eat and then spend most of the afternoon at their music or their needlework. Myrcella had already presented Arianne with a cover for her daybook, a spray of childishly bright flowers with crooked stems worked in silk and gold. Then they would dine in the princess’s rooms again and be in bed before dark.

Trystane was already there sitting with them, but that was hardly surprising. Arianne had bullied her brother into coming with her for a few days, but after that she hadn’t needed to. He seemed perfectly happy to be sitting and grinning sheepishly as the two girls chatted away at him.

Arys Oakheart stood by the door like a tall white pillar. He had finally found sense somewhere and had given up on wearing his armour constantly, but he was still sweltering in ringmail and leather. The fat old septa was doing little better, but that was to be expected too, given the heavy cotton robes and wimple she was wearing. She sat with a jug of lemon water perspiring on the table next to her, fanning herself with a piece of paper.

Septa Eglantine was the first to notice Arianne’s arrival. She dragged her bulk out of her chair with obvious effort and curtseyed.

“Princess Arianne!” Myrcella said happily. She was sweating too. She was all bundled up in a little gown of pink satin and lace that covered her from neck to toe. Her cousin was just as bad. Arianne sighed. They would cook if they stayed here, and she could have them served up for supper.

“Why don’t we all go for a ride?” She said on a sudden inspiration, “We can go all the way to the lagoon and have lunch there.”

The three children seemed thrilled with the idea, but the septa insisted it was impossible. “Myrcella, you’re to write a letter to your lady mother today, you don’t have time for such amusements.”

“That won’t take all day,” Rosamund Lannister insisted.

“It isn’t a hard ride,” Trys spoke up. He turned to Arianne, “Is it?”

“Not at all,” she confirmed, “we’ll be back before the septa even notices we’re gone.”

But the septa baulked completely at the idea that they would be going without her. Or without the Lannister house guards that had come with them from King’s Landing. All ten of them.

Arianne tried to keep the contempt out of her voice, “I meant for it to be a few hours’ diversion, not an expedition.” But she had given way without much fight. If she argued the day would be over before they could get anywhere.

By the time all the preparations were finished, noon had arrived. And the party had swelled even further when Drey decided he was coming too. And they couldn’t exclude Ser Arys’s funny little squire Alfryd Conklyn. Meria Wade came as well, and Delna and her brother Ser Morgan, and her other brother Mikel, who was all of ten. And Arianne was far too proud to let ten Lannister men accompany them without bringing a dozen mounted guardsmen of her own.

And so the cumbersome party left through the eastern gate.

Myrcella had been given the gentlest mare in the stables, but she seemed ill-at-ease on a horse. Thought not as ill-at-ease as the septa. She sat on a mule, looking as though she were about to slide off over the side. It was for her more than for the girls that they kept a slow pace.

Tyene stayed with them for less than half a league before she lost patience and charged ahead to race with Drey in the breaking surf. Trys tried to go after them, but Ser Gascoyne brought him back to their group and called him a fool.

“I don’t think Princess Myrcella would be very impressed if you broke your neck,” he said. Trystane turned red as a pomegranate and muttered darkly.

They arrived at the lagoon a good hour after Arianne had originally hoped to be back in Sunspear, but the breeze coming off the Summer Sea was so cool that not even Septa Eglantine complained that they had lost the whole day on this badly managed scheme.

The servants had erected sunshades and tables groaning with fruit and cold food. They were all starving by then and tucked in greedily. The group sat on carpets in the shade, reclining on cushions and pecking away at bowls of grapes and almonds.

Ser Morgan took out his lute and played them _The Song of the Forty-Nine_. At least Arianne thought it was supposed to be _The Song of the Forty-Nine_.

He was about to start up another song when Delna threw a handful of sand at him. “Brother, I beg you, no more,” she said.

“Now there’s sand in my lute,” he complained.

“That could only improve the sound.”

“I’ll have you know, I’ve lost count of the number of women who’ve been charmed by my music,” he boasted.

“Or maybe we’re all so desperate for you to stop that we’ll take our clothes off just to shut you up,” said Meria Wade.

The sound of their laughter didn’t quite drown out Septa Eglantine’s shocked gasp as she brought her hand to her heart.

“There will be a thousand new songs soon,” Tyene said, “wars always breed as many songs as corpses.”

“That’s true,” said Ser Morgan, “I’ve already heard nearly a dozen songs about Lord Renly’s death.”

“With nearly a dozen different tales,” said Meria.

Arianne shook her head at them, darting her eyes over to Myrcella. But she wasn’t listening, thankfully; the children were busy with conversations of their own.

Soon they were getting restless and climbing the dunes. The septa tried to keep to her usual place five feet behind Myrcella but soon she collapsed onto a folding stool in the shade and pressed a glass goblet of iced wine to her cheek.

“You needn’t worry,” Arianne told the woman as a half-hearted attempt at reassurance, “they won’t go far.”

“No,” Septa Eglantine said, her breath was still coming in gasps, “Seven save us all, I never knew it could be so hot.”

“Perhaps you should take a swim,” Drey said. Arianne glared at him and the septa gave an indignant gasp. “Or perhaps you should, princess. I could come with you.”

“No, you’re better off on your own, ser,” she said archly. “If you swim long and hard enough you may make it to the Summer Isles.”

The septa only seemed to notice at that moment that Arianne was sitting on the carpet with her back against Drey’s chest and his arm casually around her waist. She gasped indignantly again and seemed at war with herself, trying to choose between continuing to rest on the stool and running away. Arianne let herself take pleasure in the woman’s discomfort as the two of them fed each other olives stuffed with cheese.

The septa seemed almost grateful to be saved by the sight of Mikel Wyl sliding down the dune on one of the spearmen’s round metal shields and shrieking. Myrcella was close behind him.

“Mother have mercy!” She moved faster than Arianne imagined she could, tripping over the shifting sands in her effort to get to her princess. They all laughed at her. Arianne, Tyene, and Drey, Delna and Meria, and Ser Morgan, but they had the grace the stifle their laughs behind their hands. All except Drey.

“Be quiet,” Arianne scolded him, “she’s only doing her duty, we have no right to laugh at her.”

“She looks like a donkey loaded with too many stones.”

“I said shut up,” she said in a quieter voice that killed all the laughter dead.

He took his arms away from her. He looked anywhere but at her face. “Forgive me, my princess.”

Arianne nodded, but the happy mood was gone.

She watched the septa exchange words with Ser Gascoyne, but he seemed quite confused by her concern. ‘Didn’t all children play on sand dunes,’ his face seemed to ask.

Arianne had, that was certain. There had been a day much like this one, her mother and her ladies under a sunshade drinking cool drinks, and all the children stealing shields from their guards to ride them down the dunes. It had been spring, not autumn, and the craggier coast near the Water Gardens rather than this beach at the edge of an olive grove, but in all other ways it was just the same.

Drey has been there, he was always there then, and Garin and Spotted Sylva too. But Tyene she remembered as though it had happened just this morning. Prince Oberyn had appeared from nowhere and Tyene jumped up and down on the summit of the dune holding her shield high above her head. “Father, Father!” she called, “watch me!”

It had been right after the war, it would have had to be. In her memory her uncle was still dressed all in black. He had been a different man then, a near stranger who had always come and gone, but never stayed for long, who now suddenly never left, haunting the Water Gardens like a dark ghost. When you turned the corner he would be there, staring at a fountain or wandering aimlessly. When you called his name, it would take him a moment to recognize you. She could make him laugh, if she tried, as could his daughters, but even when he smiled he seemed about to burst into tears.

The dark ghost had called back, “I’m watching you, sweetling!” And Tyene had beamed and plunged headlong towards him.

When they had tired themselves out and run to her mother for orange juice and cakes, Lady Mellario had lamented that they were all more sand then flesh and blood children. Her uncle had scooped Arianne up and flipped her over so that she was hanging from his hands by her ankles. He shook her and sprinkled sand all over the carpets, the ladies, and the cakes while the other children clamoured for their turn.

Tyene, all grown up now just as Arianne was, came to sit at her other side. She was watching the children too, and Arianne was almost sure they were sharing the same memory. “I miss that game,” she said, “but I don’t suppose we would look nearly as sweet playing it now.”

“We could play a game of shuttlecock.” Lady Wade said.

Tyene groaned.

“It’s too hot to run around after a shuttlecock,” complained Ser Morgan.

“Hot?” Drey laughed, “you spend far too much time in the mountains.”

“He’s only afraid I’ll best him,” said Meria pointedly.

Ser Morgan had no choice but to fetch the battledores then.

Meria bested him rather easily, and his sister Delna after him. Then she coaxed them into playing two a side: her and Tyene against Arianne and Delna.

Tyene was more or less useless as a partner, but Arianne and Delna together could make a match for Meria. They won the first game and Meria won the second, and by then their blood was up. All four of them had thrown off their sandals and their kaftans, not caring a bit about the hot sun on the bare skin of their arms and shoulders.

By the second set of the third game, they were so heated and noisy and emotional that they attracted an audience. Most of the guards and spearmen seemed to have their money on Meria, but Trys cheered Arianne on loyally. Tyene was sitting in the sand and refusing to get up, but Meria didn’t seem to care, she covered the whole beach with the grace and speed of a gazelle, while the other two were hard pressed to even return her shots.

When the time for the final point came, Arianne hair was starting to fall apart. She ripped off the net and threw it aside so it wouldn’t distract her and grabbed a handful of skirt to wipe the sweat from her brow. She served the shuttlecock with an angry scream. Meria missed it by a hair’s breadth, but it was enough.

Trys ran to his sister to give her a congratulatory hug, and knocked her over completely. Her hair tumbled all over the sand around her as they laughed together.

“Who’s next?” Lady Meria asked. Delna just laughed.

“I’ll play!” Trystane said immediately.

“Me too!” said Myrcella.

“Oh no, my dear, you couldn’t possibly,” Septa Eglantine said instantly. She held Myrcella by the shoulder, as though afraid the girl would follow Trys’s example.

“Can I play?” asked Rosamund Lannister.

“Certainly not!” She looked briefly at Arianne with panic in her eyes, she didn’t seem to quite know what to say. “I… neither of you know how to play.”

“I can teach you Myrcella,” Trys said, still sitting on the ground with his sister, “It’s easy. All you need to do is keep the...”

“That’s very good of you, my prince, but Princess Myrcella has already had too much excitement today. I think it’s best if she rest in the shade for a while.”

Trystane looked like he wanted to argue, but Arianne put a hand on his arm, “Leave it now,” she told him quietly, so no one else could hear.

“Very well,” he said. “What about you, Ser Arys? You could play with Lady Wade.”

The heat of the day had forced him to leave off the boiled leather and mail that he had worn in Sunspear, but the white knight still wore his sword belt over a linen surcoat emblazoned with the three oak leaves of his house. Even without armour, his shoulders were broad.

He started when Trys spoke to him, as though his mind had been elsewhere. Arianne realized that he had been staring at her. “It wouldn’t be a fair contest,” the knight said when he collected himself.

“That’s nothing,” Arianne told him, “I’m sure Meria will go easy on you, ser.”

“Of course,” Meria said. She was bouncing the shuttlecock up and down against her battledore for lack on an opponent. She didn’t look nearly as tired as Arianne felt.

Ser Arys blushed an alarming shade of red, “My lady is too kind.”

“Oh please, Ser Arys, won’t you play?” Myrcella pleaded. “Rosamund and Princess Arianne and I will watch you, and I’ll give you my favour!”

“You’ll surely win,” her cousin said.

Ser Arys decided he couldn’t very well refuse.

They all retreated back to the sunshade. Septa Eglantine sat back down on her stool and folded her hands primly in her lap. She set up another stool at her side for Myrcella, but the girl sat on the carpet next to Arianne instead. She held Rosamund’s hand and giggled with excitement.

The Conklyn boy was helping Ser Arys out of his surcoat, belt, and boots. Meria waited impatiently while Trys explained the game to her opponent. When he was finished he was wearing nothing but breeches and a loose shirt. Arianne gazed at him appraisingly as she tried to restore some order to her hair. He was a well made man. A very well made man, and tall. And he clearly didn’t disdain the practice yard.

“Here,” Tyene came behind her and took charge of her hair, “there’s more sand in here than an hour glass.”

“Yes,” Arianne said distracted.

Tyene smirked at her knowingly.

Myrcella ran to Ser Arys and tied her handkerchief around his forearm. She came back with Trystane and they sat down together.

“Ser Arys is going to win, I just know it!” she squeaked.

“Would you care to wager on that?” Trystane asked her saucily.

“There will be no wagering of any kind!” Septa Eglantine said in a shocked voice.

“Quite right,” Arianne agreed with her, “really Trys, what were you thinking?”

Trystane began to mutter than he hadn’t been serious but he was drowned out when Rosamund Lannister squealed with delight.

Meria and Ser Arys had started playing and the girls were engrossed.

It didn’t take long for Meria to become frustrated with the game. The knight was too chivalrous to send her a difficult shot, or too unskilled, or both. She thwacked the shuttlecock past him time and again. Arianne was far more diverted by watching Ser Arys bend down to retrieve it off the ground then she was by the play. Within minutes Trystane had wandered off with Mikel Wyl and Myrcella and Rosamund had stopped making appreciative noises at every point scored and started talking about each other’s gowns instead.

The game finally fizzled out entirely when Trys came back from the shallows holding a sun crab the size of his head. He played at attacking Myrcella with it and she shrieked and fled. Trystane laughed and chased her down the beach in the direction of the already setting sun. Ser Arys dropped his battledore and went running after her. The septa got up from her stool but stayed where she was, bouncing on the balls of her feel anxiously.

Meria came over in an angry mood. “What did that man think he was doing?” she asked.

“I should think it was obvious,” Drey said sardonically, “he had to defend Princess Myrcella from Prince Trystane and his monstrous beast, and you know we never mock people for doing their duty here.”

She glared at him, “I promise you, Ser Andrey, I was grateful it was over. I dare say the crab could have given me a better fight. Is that how they play shuttlecock in the Reach, do you think?”

“I doubt it,” Tyene said.

Ser Arys came back with Myrcella in his arms. Her face was tear stained, but she didn’t really seem all that upset. Trys was following at her heels, empty handed and stammering apologies. “I didn’t mean to scare you, it wouldn’t have hurt you…”

The girl fell into her septa’s arms and the woman enfolded her into her embrace like a pudgy grey and blue mother bird, whispering comforting words.

Arianne took that as a signal that the day was over.

As they were standing around in mild confusion waiting for horses to be prepared and possessions to be packed away Myrcella ran into her and embraced her around the middle.

“I had such a good time, Princess Arianne!” she said excitedly.

“I’m glad,” Arianne said uncertainly, patting Myrcella’s golden head.

“I love shield sliding, and I love riding on the beach, and I love pomegranate juice!”

Her sweetness made Arianne smile.

The ride back to the palace was even slower than their ride that afternoon. Rosamund Lannister fell asleep in the saddle, so Arys Oakheart held her in front of him on his own horse for the last league or so. Arianne rode a bit apart from the rest. As the sky darkened and the moon rose, the breaking waves seemed like silver on silk underneath her horses hooves.

Trystane fell in beside her. He seemed just as tired and happy as the girls had been.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” she asked him.

He nodded. “I wish Obella were here, though, and El. She would have loved today.”

“She would have.”

“How much longer are they going to be away?”

“I don’t really know,” she said, “a few weeks at least.” Her brother looked disappointed. “It’s probably for the best. Myrcella has enough new things to get used to without adding Elia and Obella into it. By the time they come back, she’ll be feeling more at home.”

“I suppose so,” Trystane said, “but she gets bored with no one but me and Rosamund to talk to.”

“She’s barely been here a fortnight. Sunspear isn’t that dull.”

“I don’t think she’s seen much of Sunspear. I wanted to take her to the spice market and show her that statue of Prince Mors, but Septa Eglantine wouldn’t let her go.”

Arianne couldn’t say she was surprised. The septa seemed like she could barely stand to look at the shadow city out of her window. “Septa Eglantine is still getting used to things as well,” she told him. “Be patient, if the gods are good you’ll have enough time to show her every statue in Dorne twice over.”

Trystane seemed very pleased by that. “And when will Father come home,” he asked, “to meet Myrcella?”

Arianne felt a shiver down her spine. It got so cold so quickly, as soon as the sun went down. “He didn’t mention any plans to leave the Water Gardens to me,” she told him in an even tone, “I suppose he’ll come when he feels up to it.”

“I don’t think Myrcella believes he’s real.”

She reined up her horse to look him in the face. There was getting to be less and less light to see him by, but she could still see that he was smiling. “Why wouldn’t she believe it?” Arianne asked her brother. “Who does she suppose governs Dorne if our prince is imaginary?”

Trystane shrugged. “It is odd, you must admit that. If Father is too ill to come he could send for her to come to the Water Gardens. Doesn’t he want to meet her?”

 _No, of course not_ , she thought. And she had a very good idea of the reason why. There may be a new king on the Iron Throne before too long, and she doubted her father would be able to do what Stannis Baratheon would no doubt ask if Myrcella was a face, as well as a name.

And he would be too afraid to refuse.

“He will meet her, ” she reassured her brother, “when he feels up to it.”

“I know Father will like her,” Trystane said animatedly, “I do.”

“Yes, I noticed that,” Arianne said, amused, but her little brother didn’t scowl at the jape, as she expected.

“She’s not at all like I thought she’d be,” he said. “I thought she would be proud and cruel like...”

“Like a Lannister?” Arianne suggested.

“Yes, but she’s not,”  he said, “And she’s very clever, she always wants to know about everything, especially about you.”

“About me, you say?”

“Oh yes,” he rolled his eyes, “Myrcella’s all but in love with you. She keeps asking me what it’s like to have you for a sister.”

“And what did you tell her?” Arianne asked Trystane.

“I said it wasn’t so bad,” he shrugged, “that you always have time for me, even when you’re busy.”

Arianne felt absurdly touched by his words. “Who else do I have to make time for?” she asked him.

“Well, there’s Myrcella now.”

She saw the little girl ahead. She was easy enough to spot, her golden hair seemed to shine in the dark. She look exhausted, but happy, talking to Septa Eglantine atop her mule and radiating contentment.

 _I wish she hadn’t hugged me_ , Arianne thought. She thought of her father, hiding in the Water Gardens, and felt nothing but envy.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eglantine has trouble adjusting to Dorne, and to the Martells in particular.

 

Eglantine kept dreaming the same dream. For the first time in as long as she could remember she was dreaming of her home. Of long ago, when her name was still Ellyn Woodly and she lived in a stone keep overlooking a village by the sea. She would run to the very edge of the cliff to look out onto the western horizon and wonder what lay beyond it. But then she looked down, and the ground was crumbling beneath her feet.

In the late afternoon, in the few quiet hours between the work of the day and the amusements of the evening, she went alone to the sept to find reassurance, but it was no good. Even here the Dornish had left the mark of their particularity. In Baelor the Beloved’s Great Sept in King’s Landing, the Seven were represented by great marble statues dressed in silk and jewels. The Warrior’s armour was chased in gold and studded with rubies and emeralds. In the small sept in the village by her father’s keep, seven carved figures, no larger than the dolls she used to play with, were painted bright colours and set in seven niches in the wall.

Here in Sunspear there were seven gods, seven daily prayers, seven walls, just as there was in any other sept, but each wall was covered by an image made by thousands of tiny pieces of glass set into plaster. The Mother had dark eyes and a fierce look, and the Warrior held a spear in His hands.

Princess Myrcella loved the mosaics. She always spent a long time looking at the image of the Maiden in the morning when they came to say their prayers. She was as dark as the Mother, with long black hair and orange robes that were a shocking contrast to the white She had always worn before, but She was beautiful and smiling, as the Maiden should be. Eglantine had been pleased until the child told her that She looked just like Princess Arianne.

Eglantine tried to explain to Septon Timon, but he only smiled at her.

“Princess Arianne is still very young,” the septon said, “and she’s always loved good company. She likes her pleasures, but you’ll find she doesn’t live for them. And she always does her duty.”

Eglantine could only frown at that. Princess Arianne had managed to fool her at first; she had wanted so badly to like her. The lady’s attention to Myrcella had been unfailing, that was true. She came to see her every day. She sat with her, admired her needlework, listened to her recite her lessons, and heard her earnest but inharmonious attempts on the high harp. It took less than a week for Myrcella to fall in love. She waited for every visit eagerly and had declared more than once how pleased she was to finally have an older sister.

“Princess Arianne isn’t meant to be your sister,” the septa told her sternly, “she’s meant to be your guardian.” But the princess seemed more in need of a guardian herself than she was fit to be one.

If someone, her father, or her uncle in his place, had bothered to look after her, if they had found her a husband to guide her and give her children to care for, maybe it would have all come out differently. But as it was, she was ruled by no one. There wasn’t a single person in Sunspear who didn’t defer to her. The young ladies all strived to dress like Princess Arianne, to wear their hair like Princess Arianne, to weasel their way into her intimacy. The knights and lordlings all tried the same, though not quite in the same way. And it was obvious that more than a few had succeeded. Indeed, no one even bothered to make a secret of it.

Eglantine wanted to pity her, but she seemed to glory in her disgrace.

“Surely, her duty is to behave in a way that’s a credit to her father,” Eglantine insisted. “What must Prince Doran think of her behaviour.”

Septon Timon shrugged. “There have been many before her who were just the same. The prince’s mother was a good deal worse, they say. But she settled down when the time came, and so will Princess Arianne. Even Prince Oberyn settled down eventually.”

Eglantine despaired. Anyone who could consider Prince Oberyn to have settled down would never understand her.

She had hardly seen the prince- he’d left Sunspear soon after they’d arrived and only returned the day before- but he alarmed and even frightened her. Everyday, Myrcella’s maids seemed to bring her a new wild story about him. When he was young he had been exiled for poisoning one of his mother’s bannermen. He bedded boys and whores and openly kept a baseborn mistress. He had once struck Rhaegar Targaryen in the face. He had a dozen bastard daughters. He was poisoning his brother. Eglantine didn’t know how much of it was true, but the fact was none of it would surprise her. She had always heard it said that Dornish were carnal, violent, and without shame; and the Martells were the most Dornish of all.

Eglantine knew there was one bastard daughter, at least, because she had met Tyene Sand herself. “Lady” Tyene, as everyone insisted on calling her, was of an age with Princess Arianne and her constant companion. They always seemed to be laughing. When the two princesses sat together, the girl was always there; the septa could find no way to prevent it. Even poor Myrcella had onced asked if they were never apart.

“Our fathers all but put us in the same cradle,” Princess Arianne had said, “we’ve always done everything together.”

“Perhaps not everything,” her cousin said. They had laughed then; they were always laughing. Poor Myrcella had laughed with them.

The bastard had managed to fool Eglantine too, and for even longer than the princess. She spoke so softly and piously, and smiled so sweetly. She always had a needle in her hand and worked so beautifully. She even dressed with some semblance of modesty, but underneath all that, she was just as bad. A wanton clad in maiden’s white.

On reflection, Eglantine shouldn’t have been surprised. Bastards were wanton by nature, born as they were without the blessing of the Father and the Mother. A kind father would have given her to the Faith, a life of prayer may have given her peace, but Prince Oberyn seemed to care as little for his daughter as he did for his niece.

She tried again to explain her fears to Septon Timon. “My duty is to guard Myrcella,” she said. “To see that she has proper guidance. How could I not have failed in my duty if I allow her to idealized a woman who behaves like the princess does?”

“Holy men and women are able to shut their eyes to the things in the world that cause temptation,” he said. “But that’s not a path Princess Myrcella can choose. Your duty is to prepare her to fulfill those duties her birth has given her, not to judge those that the Father, in his wisdom, has placed above her. And above you.”

Eglantine despaired once again. Septon Timon was a Dornishman, and like all of them; he couldn’t bare to hear his precious princess criticized. She couldn’t see what it was about her, what it was about the entire family, that made them all worship them so.

The septon blessed her and she left the sept, feeling worse than she had before she came.

Myrcella was sitting with Rosamund at her dressing table while Alyssa brushed her hair. From behind they could pass for sisters, with the same golden hair, though Rosamund’s was straight where Myrcella’s curled in soft ringlets.

“Septa,” Myrcella said as soon as she saw her, “can I wear a green dress tonight?”

“No child,” she said, “we decided you should wear black and gold tonight, it’s a formal event.”

“But,” Myrcella began to argue, “last time I wore green Trystane said I looked nice.”

“ _Prince_ Trystane, if you please.”

“He _told_ us to call him Trystane,” Rosamund objected.

“You will certainly never have cause to address the prince so familiarly, Rosamund,” Eglantine told the girl.

“No, septa,” she had the grace to look ashamed, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” she told her with a smile, “just remember in the future.” She turned to Myrcella, “I beg you both, please don’t forget your courtesies tonight. Prince Trystane’s name day is an important occasion. Many of his lord father’s bannermen will be there. You must remember that everything you do reflects on your lady mother, and on your royal brother.”

“Of course, septa,” Myrcella said gravely, “I will remember, and I’ll wear the gold and black dress, if you think I should.”

Eglantine regarded her affectionately. Myrcella was a good child who would never give her cause to worry; she must have faith in the truth of that.

Alyssa and Serra were lacing the princess into her gown of gold silk taffeta trimmed with black Myrish lace and setting a tiara of black onyx in her hair when Princess Arianne arrived, her bastard cousin on her heels, as ever.

“You look beautiful, Myrcella,” she said.

“So do you, Princess Arianne,” she said with shining eyes.

The princess always _looked_ well. She was wearing an iridescent blue gown that bared her arms and had a plunging bodice that left little to the imagination. And she glittered with jewels. When Myrcella admired a broach with a black diamond in the centre the size of a silver stag, she took it off her own gown and pinned it on Myrcella’s.

“Why don’t you wear it tonight? It goes well with your dress.” The child beamed at her. “It belonged to Princess Aliandra, there’s quite a tale behind it.”

“Won’t you tell me?” Myrcella asked.

“Maybe when you’re a little older,” Princess Arianne laughed.

The feast was presided over by an empty seat. Princess Arianne sat on one side of it and Prince Oberyn on the other. The young prince sat at the head of a separate table just at the foot of the dais with two dozen other noisy children. Myrcella was beside him and was soon as noisy as the rest of them. Eglantine was given a place on the dais quite near the end of the table, but she noticed she was placed so that she was as close to Myrcella as could be; she could even hear the child if she strained. And she doubted that was an accident. _There are certainly few details beneath her notice_ , she thought grudgingly of the princess.

Alyse Ladybright was in the seat to her left, the Lord Treasurer of Sunspear. She hardly seemed like a powerful lord to Eglantine; she was older than the septa by a good ten years, and thin and small besides. But her lined face was shrewd.

“I’d forgotten how noisy everything becomes as soon as Prince Oberyn is home,” the lady said with a fondness in her voice. “It’s all been rather dull without him.”

“Has it, my lady?” Eglantine said in surprise. ‘Dull’ would never have been a word she would have associated with the last six weeks.

“Oh yes,” Lady Alyse said, “Prince Oberyn has always excelled at two things, ever since he was a child: making a room lively and spending money. Often the one has much to do with the other."

“I see,” said Eglantine, feeling slightly embarrassed by how freely the woman was speaking.

“Although perhaps I shouldn’t complain,” she allowed, “he’s not been nearly so bad these past fifteen years since Lady Ellaria entered his life.”

“Lady Ellaria?” The septa had heard the name being spoken, but couldn’t quite place it.

“Yes, Ellaria Sand, the prince’s paramour,” Lady Alyse said. “The lady seated next to him. She at least seems to understand that gold is worth more than silver.”

Eglantine looked over to the prince in shock. There was a woman seated next to him. The prince was touching her hand and whispering in her ear. So, it seemed that the rumours about a baseborn mistress were true. And there she was, bold as brass. “What is she doing on the dais?”

Lady Alyse looked at her strangely. She seemed as though she were confused by the question. Eglantine looked along the dais again. None of the ladies there appeared to feel the insult that was being done them; even Princess Arianne was perfectly cheerful.

“I suppose Prince Oberyn is used to getting his own way,” the septa said. She knew better than most that a person could grow accustomed to almost anything.

“Most princes are, in my experience,” Alyse Ladybright said. “Prince Oberyn even more than most, it’s fair to say. Although, who can tell? The Cold ones will bend you to their will without you even noticing.”

“Cold ones, my lady?”

The Lord Treasurer laughed, “It’s always been said in Dorne that there are only two kinds of Martells: the Hot and the Cold.”

“And Prince Oberyn is Hot.” Eglantine stated.

“Oh, without a doubt,” her companion agreed, “just as Prince Doran is Cold. Most agree that we’re better off when the Cold are the elder.”

“Which kind is Princess Arianne?” Eglantine wondered out loud.

Lady Alyse raised an eyebrow, “I should think that would be fairly obvious,” she said, “to anyone who knows her.”

At that moment, Prince Oberyn said something to the princess and she started laughing so loudly they could no doubt hear her at the far end of the hall. _Yes_ , Eglantine thought, _it’s perfectly obvious_.

At the children’s table, Prince Trystane was coaxing Myrcella into eating one of the long green peppers stuffed with cheese and onions. He and the other children all laughed when she gasped in shock and gulped down blood orange juice, but they all cheered her just as much when she tried another bite.

“I hope Princess Myrcella isn’t too anxious,” Lady Alyse said after a short silence.

“Anxious, my lady?” Eglantine replied, “I don’t know what you mean. Why would Princess Myrcella be anxious?”

The lady narrowed her eyes. “About Lord Stannis and the battle, naturally,” she said. “To think, it could be all over by now, with us none the wiser.”

Eglantine tried not to let her shock show on her face, “Myrcella had no idea about any of that.” Indeed, the septa had worked hard to make sure she didn’t, even while every washerwoman and gardener was whispering about the Kingswood on fire and the fleet poised to sail into Blackwater Bay. She didn’t like to think about it herself, or how she would break the news, if the worse happened. “I don’t see why she should know anything until we’ve had word that the king has been victorious.”

“Of course,” Lady Alyse said. And that was the end of their conversation.

Between the courses there was a spear dance, and acrobats from the Summer Isles whose tricks made the children exclaim in equal parts fear and delight. Then there was a folly involving two fools who somehow managed to get their long false beards knotted together.

The culmination of the feast was a cake as tall as a man covered in hundreds of sugared plums. When Prince Trystane cut it open, thirteen songbirds escaped to fly among the assembled guests.

The trestle tables were cleared away, and soon the dancing started, with the children leading the way, Myrcella and her betrothed first among them. Slowly, the lords and ladies joined them.

Eglantine left the dais herself to stand along the wall and keep her eye on Myrcella, but soon she watching everyone else as well.

Princess Arianne was near one of the carved pillars, alone with Ser Arys Oakheart. It was becoming a familiar sight. So was the blush that crept up Ser Arys’s face as the poor man struggled not to look down the front of her bodice, even as she did her best to draw his eye by fiddling with the diamond pendant that hung around her neck. Ser Arys said something and she laughed and averted her eyes, and covered her cheek with her hand as though to hide a blush of her own.

Eglantine moved towards them, filled with an overpowering desire to give the little slut a real reason to clutch her cheek, but the crush of Dornishmen was so great that by the time she got there Ser Arys was dancing with Delna Wyl and Prince Oberyn had taken his place.

“He looks tempting enough, I grant you that,” the prince was saying, “but how you tolerate those little-girl blushes I’ll never understand.”

His niece shrugged, “Blushes have their own charms.”

“If you insist,” he said. “You’d think he never saw a pair of tits before.”

“Perhaps he’s simply never seen a pair like mine,” she said with a smirk. “I’ve certainly never seen an ass quite like that.”

Prince Oberyn watched Ser Arys dance for a moment, “Yes, I suppose you’re right,” he said. “Do you think those cheeks blush as well?”

“You’ll be the first to know when I find out, Uncle.”

“I may just find out before you,” he said.

Princess Arianne laughed out loud, “You’re welcome to try, but I don’t suggest putting any money on it.”

“I hate to tell you this, little princess, but the thrill of a wager is the only kind of thrill you can expect in this case,” he told her. “If your tits provoke that reaction, the rest of you may kill him.”

“Is that so?” she asked with another smirk.

Eglantine had heard quite enough. She looked around the hall for Myrcella and saw her sitting on a bench against the far wall with Prince Trystane and a pretty dark haired girl of an age with them. The girl was telling some story, it seemed, and Myrcella was engrossed.

“...but my father said the story must be true, or else why would they call it _Hell_ holt, even though my mother and my grandfather said it was just one of those things they tell about all old places.”

“Of course it’s true,” Prince Trystane said. “Everyone knows the Ullers are all mad.”

“My grandfather isn’t mad!” the girl said stoutly. “He made me a gift of this hair ornament see?” She showed Myrcella the gold filagree net holding her thick black curls in place.

“It’s so pretty!” Myrcella cooed, “can I touch it?”

The septa went to stand by Myrcella and smiled at the dark girl expectantly. Prince Trystane was the first to remember his courtesies.

“Septa,” he said pleasantly, “this is my cousin, Obella Sand.” The girl stood up and curtseyed with a little giggle.

Eglantine felt herself go pale. “Myrcella!” she said, loudly enough so that several of the people who were standing nearby turned to look. “Come with me at once!”

Myrcella looked at her in confusion. There was silence around them as people turned to look at the scene, but the septa didn’t care in the slightest.

“What’s wrong?” Prince Trystane asked, but she ignored him.

“I said at once, child,” she repeated. She took Myrcella by the hand and lead her away from the dozen or more pairs of Dornish eyes that were fixed on them.

“Why are you so angry, septa?” Myrcella asked her. “Did I do something wrong?”

Eglantine could feel herself deflate. “No, my love, you did nothing wrong. Prince Trystane should have known better than to impose on you like that. The girl shouldn’t have even been here at all.” It was Princess Arianne’s fault, what could she have been thinking? She may not have been able to keep the woman away but surely she could have prevented a bastard girl from accosting the king’s sister. The queen would never forgive Eglantine if she found out. “Where’s Rosamund?”

“She’s dancing,” Myrcella said. She still look so confused. Eglantine was ashamed of herself for upsetting her, she had no cause to allow the child to suffer for other people’s neglect.

“Come sit with me,” she told her, “you must be tired.” She found a bench in front of a window of leaded glass that extended from floor to ceiling. She sat Myrcella down on the silk cushion.

“I’m not tired at all.”

“Of course you are,” Eglantine said, “I’ll fetch you something to drink. Wait for Rosamund and don’t move from this spot.”

“Yes, septa.”

She went back to the dais in search of water or juice, but all she found was wine and sour lemon water.  She passed Princess Arianne again. Her brother had found her.

“There’s no point getting upset about it,” she said to Prince Trystane. “It’s just their way.”

“I thought Obella was going to cry,” the boy said. “They were only talking nonsense about hair ornaments.”  

“It’s all right, Trys,” the princess said, “you didn’t do anything wrong.” She looked around the hall anxiously, “Where’s Obella now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Please, tell me she didn’t go running to her father.”

“I don’t know where she is,” the boy repeated.

“Well, find her!” She looked to where Prince Oberyn was dancing. “Find her and tell her I forbid her to say anything to anyone. Did anyone else hear this?”

“I don’t know!” he said, “I was too embarrassed to look.”

“It won’t happen again, I promise you that,” she said. “Find Obella, and I’ll go guard our uncle.”

Myrcella made a face at the sour lemon water Eglantine brought her, but she drank it anyway. Rosamund came to join them and tried to take Myrcella back to dance, but the septa insisted that they rest. When Ser Ryon Allyrion came to pay his courtesies she was unspeakably glad.

“Are you enjoying yourself, my princess?” he asked Myrcella.

“Oh, yes!” she said, “The music is lovely, and Princess Arianne let me borrow her broach.”

Eglantine caught sight of the other princess again, standing near her uncle and looking anxious. Prince Oberyn seemed to be a little in his cups, even louder and more cheerful than he was before. Princess Arianne stuck close to him until the moment he called to a handsome young man and embraced him warmly; then the princess suddenly tried to creep away, but he called her over too. She blushed before she came, without even a hint of artifice. She smiled as the man bowed and kissed her hand, but it was tight and forced. Eglantine frowned.

“Who is that young man,” she asked Ser Ryon, “speaking with Prince Oberyn?”

The knight looked over and smiled proudly, “That is my son, Ser Daemon Sand.” The septa felt sick.

Ser Ryon’s smile fell when he saw that Princess Arianne was there. She had tried to walk away again but it seemed like Prince Oberyn wouldn’t let her. With every word the prince spoke, his companions seemed to become more and more uncomfortable. Ser Daemon spoke when the prince pressed him, but Princess Arianne just stood with a smile that looked almost painful.

The people around the trio were beginning to whisper to each other. Princess Arianne noticed too, and when she did, she turned and walked away abruptly, though the bastard was cut off in mid-word.

Myrcella waved to her and she started towards them. When she saw Ser Ryon she hesitated, but she couldn’t resist Myrcella’s excitement.

Ser Ryon’s face was hard as stone when he bowed, “My princess,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Ser Ryon.” She put on a smile that Eglantine would almost have believed if she hasn’t just witness that odd conversation. “It’s very pleasant to see you.” She sat down next to Myrcella on the bench, “How is Lady Ynys?”

Her courtesy only upset him more, “She’s very well,” he spat out. “It’s good of you to ask, my princess.”

“I heard she’d been ill.”

“She’s quite recovered.”

“Oh,” Princess Arianne said in a small voice.

Prince Trystane arrived at that moment and squeezed on the bench between Myrcella and Rosamund. “Aren’t you dancing anymore?” he asked.

“We have to rest now,” Myrcella said.

“You’ve rested enough,” he said. He took Myrcella’s hand with one of his and Rosamund’s with the other and led them both to the floor.

After a moment, Ser Ryon forced out another courtesy and asked Princess Arianne if she wanted to dance as well.

“No,” she said, “thank you, but I’ve quite lost any desire to dance.”

“How unfortunate,” he said with biting sarcasm, “well, I’m sure when the mood does strike you, you’ll have no trouble finding a partner. Excuse me.” He bowed again and left, while she blushed and looked away. The septa stared incredulously after him.

Eglantine found herself alone on the bench with the princess. She wondered if she should say something, but Princess Arianne didn’t seem to know she was there. She sat with her hands folded in her lap, looking at the dancers. Or perhaps more likely, beyond the dancers to where her uncle was still talking to the bastard knight Ser Daemon.

Prince Oberyn’s woman appeared suddenly and sat down beside the princess, without word or ceremony. She was smiling and fanning herself. Eglantine watched Ellaria Sand closely. She was handsome, but not beautiful, the septa decided;, younger than the prince, but not by many years. She had dark hair and dark eyes. Her dress was as rich as any lady’s in the hall. There were rubies in her hairnet.

“You look exhausted,” the princess told her. She raised her hand and almost immediately a serving man arrived with two goblets of wine on a tray. The woman took one gratefully, but Princess Arianne waved the other away.

“I’m not as young as you are,” Ellaria Sand said.

“Please, don’t say that tonight,” the princess said with a laugh. “My youngest brother just turned three and ten.”

Ellaria Sand smiled, “Imagine how you’ll feel when your daughter turns three and ten.”

“I’d rather not,” she said. “Which reminds me, what is this about Dorea having a puppy?”

“Oh,” the woman said flippantly, “my father gave her a puppy.”

“Why?”

“He didn’t tell me why,” she said with another laugh, “but the poor child is in love. She would have brought it to the feast if I had let her.” They bent their heads together and laughed. “And speaking of the girls,” Ellaria Sand continued, “do you know why Obella is so upset? She won’t tell me a thing.”

Princess Arianne gave the septa a quick, ferocious glance that made her flinch. “No,” she said, “I have no idea.”

The woman looked at Eglantine as well, “I see,” she said quietly. She started to get up, but Princess Arianne gripped her forearm.

“Please, don’t go.”

Prince Oberyn came to sit next to his lover with his companion in tow. Eglantine rose from the bench to stand rather awkwardly by a pillar next to it, but the prince didn’t so much as glance at her. He took the goblet right out of Ellaria Sand’s hand and drank from it.

“Why do children always make a place seem more noisy and crowded?” he asked her. “You’d think smaller people would take up less room.”

“It’s because they act as though they don’t care who’s watching them,” she said.

He laughed and kissed her cheek. “Daemon,” the prince said suddenly, “have you swallowed a spear, sit down.” Ellaria Sand looked daggers at him.

The only space left on the bench was the the right of Princess Arianne. The man regarded the spot apprehensively for a moment while the princess blushed again and rather studiously kept her eyes on the dancers. He drew himself up even straighter, looking as stone faced as his father had. “I’m more than happy to stand, my prince.”

“Don’t be…” Prince Oberyn began, but he was interrupted by a girl of about fourteen stalking towards him angrily. She was followed by a child who could only be her sister, and Tyene Sand.

“Faaatheer,” the maid said, “Loreza keeps following me around, make her go away!”

 _Gods be good, not another one_ , Eglantine thought. Was every other child in the hall one of his by-blows?

“Loree why are you tormenting your sister?” Prince Oberyn asked the little girl fondly. She couldn’t have been a day over six years old, the septa judged. And she should have been in her bed an hour ago.

“I’m not!” she said, rubbing tears out of her eyes. “She said she’d dance with me, but she keeps running away to dance with boys!”

Prince Oberyn laughed, “That’s terrible,” he said. He scooped her up and placed her on his lap, where she pressed her head against his chest and cried.

Her sister stamped her foot. “She won’t leave me alone, she’s always grabbing me by the skirt and pulling at me! She’s insufferable!”

“No I’m not!” the girl said.

“Shut up!” said her sister.

“Elia, that’s enough,” Ellaria Sand said in a calm voice, “you’re the one who’s being insufferable. And what do you think you’re doing screaming in the Feast Hall like a fishwife?”

“Besides,” said Tyene Sand, taking the place on the bench next to Princess Arianne, “you used to do the same thing to me.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You did,” Tyene Sand and the princess said together. The girl just stamped her foot again.

“Enough,” her mother repeated.

“Come on, Lady Elia,” Ser Daemon Sand took the girl’s hand. “We’ll go dance and try to stay out of trouble.”

She gave her sister one last petulant look before going off with him.

As soon as they were out of earshot Princess Arianne rounded on her uncle, “How could you do that to me?”

Prince Oberyn feigned innocence, “What are you talking about?”

The princess snorted angrily and turned away from him, “Gods, what must he be thinking,” she said to Tyene Sand.

Her cousin put a comforting arm around her, although there was a smirk on her face, “He’s thinking my father has had too much wine,” she said. “The only thing that’s strange is how much you’re fretting about it.”

“His father wants to gut me.”

“He’ll never get his precious son anywhere if he does that,” Tyene Sand said in a syrupy voice.

“I wish I could just leave,” Princess Arianne said. Eglantine thought it was nice that they finally had something in common.

When the dance ended Myrcella returned, holding Prince Trystane’s hand.

“It’s time you went to bed, child,” Eglantine said immediately. The four on the bench turned to look at her in surprise. They had clearly forgotten she was even there.

“Please, Princess Arianne,” Myrcella said, “can I please stay a little longer?”

“Of course,” the princess said before Eglantine could object.

“Can I stay up as long as you?”

She laughed, “No, but you can stay up as long as Trys.”

“Oh, thank you!” Myrcella said, “can Rosamund stay too?”

“I wouldn’t separate the two of you.”

“Come and dance, sister,” Prince Trystane said. Her took her by one arm and Myrcella took her by the other and they tried to pull her up.

“I’m not dancing tonight,” she objected.

“Yes, you are,” said Prince Trystane. “It’s my name day. You have to do whatever I want on my name day.”

“I’ll remember than on my own name day,” she quipped, but she went with them.

Ellaria Sand looked at Prince Oberyn in a way that Eglantine could only describe as wifely.

“What?” he asked her with a smile.

“Arianne is right, Oberyn,” she said. “It’s well past time you gave up on those two.”

“Please,” he said shaking his head, “did you see the pair of them?”

“Oh, I saw them.”

“After all this time,” Tyene Sand asked her father, “why do you have to make them miserable now?”

He ignored the question, “They wouldn’t be miserable if they stopped being so stubborn.”

“You embarrassed them,” Ellaria Sand said disapprovingly, “and in public. People are going to be gossiping for weeks.”

“Arianne loves to be gossiped about.”

“Not in this case,” she said frustrated, “you know that.”

Tyene Sand shrugged, “Oh well,” she said, “she’s behaving a lot better than she did last time she couldn’t avoid him.”

“What did she do last time?” Ellaria Sand asked curiously.

“She hid behind a tapestry.”

Prince Oberyn laughed out loud.

Ellaria Sand shushed him, “You’ll wake Loree,” she said.

“Is she sleeping?”

She was. The girl had fallen asleep on his lap with her mouth hanging open.

“Let me take her to bed,” her mother said.

“No, my love, stay and dance a while longer;  I’ll take her.” He gave her a long, lingering kiss on the lips before standing up with the girl in his arms. He turned to his other daughter before he left. “Good night, Tyene.”

“Good night, Father,” she said.  

The two women were left alone on the bench. Ellaria Sand yawned. “As though I could dance anymore.” Tyene Sand nodded in agreement. She couldn’t possible be _her_ daughter as well, Eglantine decided. The girl was far too fair for that.

She took around the hall again. Myrcella was dancing with her Dornish prince. She had accepted him and everything that came with him because she was told it was her duty. Eglantine had told her that. Princess Arianne had contrived to get away from the children, and her tender feelings, to dance and laugh with some other handsome man, while Ryon Allyrion’s bastard son looked in her direction far more often than was natural.

“You should sit down, septa,” Ellaria Sand said after a moment, “you must be as tired as the rest of us.”

Eglantine was tired. Exhausted, in truth. Ellaria Sand made room for her and Tyene smiled at her sweetly. The hall was bustling, and filled with happy people, but she was utterly alone here.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is waiting for news. And when it comes, it may change everything.

 

“It will be any day now,” Prince Oberyn said. “By all accounts the fleet regrouped at Massey’s Hook more than a fortnight ago.” He cut a pomegranate in half and tore the seeds out with his hand. The red juice dribbled between his fingers onto his plate.

“Maybe it will be a long siege,” Arianne suggested, but her uncle shook his head.

“The city is already starving,” he said cheerfully, “and the stormlanders have burnt everything between the river and the Kingswood.”

They were breaking their fast in Prince Oberyn’s dayroom. Loreza had somehow cajoled her way onto Arianne’s lap while her mother and sisters crowded around the little round table eating softly boiled duck’s eggs and a flat bread of chickpea flour with pureed aubergine.

“And even if Lord Stannis does take the city,” Arianne said, “who’s to say he can keep it. There were at least three armies just as large loose in the realm when last I checked.”

Her uncle scoffed. “Tywin Lannister,” he said the name as though it were a curse, “is trapped in the riverlands, the northmen have no interest in anything south of the Trident, and the Tyrells will start sucking Stannis’s cock the moment he starts winning.”

“You sound very sure about that.”

“Mace Tyrell is a coward and an idiot. If he’s not bending his knee to someone, he doesn’t know what to do with himself,” her uncle said confidently.

“Dorea,” Ellaria said, “are you feeding that animal at the table?”

Dorea lifted her little black puppy from her lap and held it protectively against her chest. “His name is Nymor, Mother,” she declared.

Arianne laughed, even after Ellaria gave her a dirty look.

“Don’t be stupid!” Elia said, “you can’t name your dog ‘Nymor’!”

“Yes, I can!” Dorea said, with all the fury an eight-year-old could possibly command. “He’s mine, I can name him what I like!”

“El, don’t call your sister stupid, and you” the prince said to Dorea, “put your little dragon slayer on the floor where he belongs.” She obeyed, still glowering at her older sister.

“What if Lord Stannis doesn’t start winning?” Arianne asked. “What will Highgarden do then?”

“Lord Stannis will win,” her uncle declared.

“Yes, I know,” she said, “but what if he doesn’t. The Kingslanders are defending their home, after all.”

“It makes no difference,” the Red Viper said. “They don’t have a hope.”

Arianne hardly disagreed with him, the city would fall, and soon, but his certainty was making her angry. “I’m sure that’s what the Young Dragon said at Godsgrace.”

He smirked at her patronizingly, “What do you know about siegecraft, little princess?”

“I know that numbers aren’t everything.”

“No, but they’re something,” he said, “and the people of King’s Landing were rioting two months ago. They’re as like to open the gates for Stannis as anything.”

“They say Lord Stannis worships a demon now,” said Obella.

“Don’t believe everything you hear, my heart,” her mother said. “The red priests aren’t demons.”

“They look like demons,” she said.

“You better get used to them,” Elia said. “Once Stannis becomes king, he’ll force everyone to worship R’hllor. He’ll burn down all the septs.”

“He can’t do that here in Dorne,” Obella said. She looked to Arianne. “Can he?”

“Of course not,” she said smiling.

“Stannis will have to be sweet to us,” Prince Oberyn told his daughter. “We have something he wants.”

The princess’s smile fell.

“Arianne,” Loreza pulled on her sleeve, “when is Trys coming?”

“He’s not, Loree,” she said, grateful for the distraction. “He’s eaten already.”

“With Princess Myrcella?” asked Elia resentfully.

“Yes.”

“He sure does follow her around,” her cousin continued. “It’s like they’re already married.”

Tyene laughed, “It is rather like that,” she said.

“Trys likes her,” Obella said.

“He only likes her because she always smiles and laughs at everything he says,” said Elia, making a face.

“No, she doesn’t,” Obella said, “and she looks so pretty, and she was very nice to me.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Tyene said. Arianne jabbed her in the thigh with two fingers. “Ow!”

“What do you mean?” Prince Oberyn asked immediately. “Was this last night?”

Tyene, completely unrepentant, smiled that smile she only used when she thought she was winning. Arianne could have slapped her.

“Obella,” the Red Viper said, “tell me what happened.”

“Nothing happened,” Obella said quietly, but her face betrayed her.

“Don’t lie to me, child.”

“Leave her be,” Arianne said. “I told her not to say anything.”

Her uncle turned on her, “Why would you do that?”

“Why?” Arianne said, she could feel the heat creeping up her face. “Because you were already acting like a drunken idiot and I didn’t know what you would do.”

“That little Lannister better remember where she is...”

“It wasn’t Myrcella,” Obella said, “it was that angry septa of hers.”

“What did that fat old crone say to _my_ daughter?” Prince Oberyn asked Arianne.

“She didn’t say anything,” Tyene said, “that was the problem. And if she had her way, Myrcella wouldn’t have said anything either.”

“It won’t happen again,” Arianne cut in before her uncle could say anything else. “I’ll speak to her.”

“ _You’ll_ speak to her?” he said scornfully. “If we had to wait for you to tell someone what you really feel about anything, we’d be waiting for the Long Summer.”

How dare he throw that in her face now. “I said I’d speak to her.”

“She must be either stupid or willfully blind to turn her nose up like that,” her uncle said, “considering what that girl is.”

“She’s not stupid,” Arianne said. “You said yourself there was no proof of that.” When the raven had come from Dragonstone accusing the queen of incest, Prince Oberyn had been amused, but dismissive, just like the rest of Westeros.

“That was before I saw her.”

Arianne would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought the exact same thing. “You also said the truth didn’t matter.”

“I don’t understand you,” he said, “you’re almost as bad as Trystane.”

“Myrcella is only a little girl,” Arianne said. “She only ever wants to please everyone, as you would see if you even bothered to know her.”

“I have no wish to know her,” her uncle said. “Have you gone soft-headed or just soft-hearted? She’s a hostage, no matter what you’ve managed to convince yourself of.”

“I’m in no danger of forgetting it,” she said. “That doesn’t mean I have to be as gleeful as you are about the thought of Stannis Baratheon getting his hands on her.”

“I should have know you wouldn’t have the stomach for this.”

“I should have known you would be willing to buy the favour of a king with the bodies of murdered children!”

Prince Oberyn pushed back his chair and stood up in one angry move. Ellaria looked between him and Arianne, shocked, and the princess couldn’t remember the last time she had actually seen Tyene frightened.

“If you were not my own blood Arianne, I swear...”

“You’d what?” She looked him full in the face. She was the heir to Sunspear and she wasn’t going to be intimidated by anyone, not even the Red Viper of Dorne.

“Sit down, Oberyn,” Ellaria said. He stared at her. “The children are watching you.”

He looked down at Loree, who had buried her face in Arianne’s shoulder, and Obella, who was staring at her plate like she thought this was all her fault. He looked almost ashamed. He left the table and the room without another word.

Ellaria shook her head at Arianne, “What were you thinking, saying something like that to him?”

Arianne hadn’t been thinking, but she hadn’t been wrong either.

Tyene threw down her spoon suddenly and all but ran out of the room. Arianne put Loreza down and ran after her, following her up two flights of stairs before her cousin collapsed onto a step at the very top. She was more upset even than Arianne had realized.

“I thought he was going to hit you,” she said breathlessly.

“He never would have done that,” Arianne said confidently.

“I… I didn’t mean for that to happen,” Tyene said.

“I know.” Tyene never thought about what her words would do, once they were out of her mouth.

“I didn’t think it was right,” she continued, “what she did to Obella, I mean. And I think you’re too tolerant of it.”

Arianne sat down next to her, “You’re right” she said. “I feel sorry for her. Soon she’ll have to tell Myrcella that her brother is dead. And her mother too, most like.”

“I don’t like thinking about battles,” Tyene said, “you never know what’s going to happen. And the idea of having an entire battle just for the sake of killing a few people seems…excessive.”

“I suppose battles have been fought over a good deal less,” Arianne said.

“But it’s what you want, isn’t it?” Tyene asked. “You want Lord Stannis to win this battle.”

“Me?” Arianne couldn’t think of a single reason why she should want Stannis Baratheon to be Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. She had never seen him, but he had a reputation as a rigid and humourless man, who saw the relationship between lord and vassal in terms of complete simplicity. And Dorne’s relationship with the Iron Throne had never been simple. “Not really.”

“So what,” Tyene said sharply, “you want the Lannisters to win?”

“Of course not!” she snapped, “I don’t hate them any less than you do.” When she was little she had hated Tywin Lannister because he had hurt her father, because it scared her to see him so inconsolable, but when she had grown up and come to understand what he had done, she had no difficulty hating him for her own sake.

“So why wouldn’t you want Stannis to win?”

“Because,” Arianne said patiently, “Robert Baratheon left us to ourselves for fifteen years, but I doubt his brother will.”

“You’re talking about Myrcella again.”

“No,” she said, “I’m not. I’m talking about taxes and troop levies...” she trailed off when Tyene rolled her eyes.

“If taxes and troop levies are all you care about then one little girl should be a small price to pay,” Tyene said.

Arianne felt the duck’s eggs roiling in her stomach. “You’re your father’s daughter,” she said to Tyene.

“So are you, it seems.”

_No_. She thought. _If it had been you the Lannisters had murdered, I never would have done nothing_. But then what right did she have to be angry at her uncle for wanting his revenge now that he had the chance? Why shouldn’t they suffer as he had?

They heard voices and giggling from down the corridor. Children’s voices.

“No one should be up here,” Arianne said.

“It’s probably one of the girls.” Tyene said.

“They know better.” She opened the door out of the staircase and they rounded a corner to see Trystane and Myrcella by a set of huge locked double doors. She was on her knees looking through the keyhole, while he was on the ground looking at the gap between the carpet and the bottom of the door. “What are you two doing here?”

They both started and leapt back to their feet. Myrcella started to giggle nervously, but Trys folded his arms in front of him as though to say he denied any wrongdoing.

“We only wanted to go in there,” he said.

“Those are the prince’s rooms.”

“Myrcella wanted to see them.”

“Why?”

Trystane shrugged and Myrcella blushed and looked down at her feet. “I was only curious,” she said.

“Can’t I go into my own father’s rooms?”

Arianne hadn’t noticed until that moment that it was just the two of them. “Where’s Rosamund?” she asked them. They looked at each other guiltily and then shrugged in unison. “Where’s Septa Eglantine?” She had never seen Myrcella without the septa before.

“She’s not feeling well,” Myrcella said.

“How dreadful,” said Tyene in a sweet little voice.

Arianne gave her a sharp look, “Well, I hope she recovers quickly,” she said.

“Of course she will,” Tyene said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Arianne smiled in spite of herself. “Why don’t you fetch the key, Tyene.”

It took her a few minutes to go down several flights of stairs to the guardroom and back up again. Myrcella fidgeted excitedly.

“I don’t know what you expect to find in there,” Arianne said, “it’s just a set of empty rooms.”

“Then why are the doors locked?” Myrcella asked with a little glint in her eye.

Arianne took the key from Tyene and pushed both doors open. The first room was just an antechamber filled with chairs covered in white sheets, and more doors.

“Are these all locked too?” Myrcella asked.

“They shouldn’t be,” Arianne said. The girl looked at her expectantly. “Go, explore,” she told her, “find whatever it is you’re looking for.” She and Trys picked a door at random and disappeared.

Arianne opened the second door to the right and looked into her father’s sitting room.

“I haven’t been in here in years,” Tyene said.

“It doesn’t look like anyone has been here in years,” Arianne said. The dust was so thick on the carpets that covered the floor that it made little clouds around her sandals with every step. She crossed the room and opened the connecting door into the bedchamber. “The moths have been at the bed hangings!” she said in frustration. “I should have had them taken down when we closed up the rooms.”

“No one expected him to be gone so long,” Tyene said.

That was true enough. A few weeks to recover from a bad bout of gout had turned into a few months. And that had turned into two years. And not once in those two years had she given a moment’s thought to the state of his rooms. “I can’t believe I overlooked it.”

“The bed hangings are hardly your province, Arianne.”

“Everything is supposed to be my province.”

The children came running into the room, laughing. Trys jumped right onto the bed and pulled Myrcella up after him. Tyene sneezed and flapped her hand in front of her face to keep the dust from her eyes. “You know, Trys,” she said, “you were born in that bed.”

Trystane immediately jumped off it, looking slightly horrified.

“Was he really?” Myrcella asked Arianne.

“Yes,” she told her, “exactly thirteen years and one day ago.”

“Were you born here too?”

“Of course, though not quite so recently.”

“What about you, Lady Tyene?”

“No,” Tyene laughed, “I wasn’t even born in Dorne.”

“I didn’t know that,” Myrcella said.

Arianne left them and went back through the sitting room to the other connecting door that opened into the solar. To check the tapestries, she told herself. A few of them were valuable, after all. When she opened the door she thought she saw a candle burning at the writing desk, but she blinked and it was gone.

The tapestries were gone as well, but everything else was as it ever was. The desk between the windows, the little table where her father sometimes took his meals, the daybed she used to fall asleep on.

Arianne pulled the sheet off one of the windows to let in some light. The top of the desk was clear except for a thick layer of dust and a small oval shaped object. It was a locket with a front covered in flowers done in silver and enamel. When she touched the clasp it sprung open to reveal a portrait painted in soft colours. It surprised her to think he would just leave it there.

“She’s beautiful.” Myrcella had appeared at her elbow. Arianne hadn’t even heard her come in.

“It’s my mother,” she told the girl.

“You look just like her,” Myrcella said.

“Do I?” People said that sometimes. Although they were just as likely to say that she looked like her grandmother, or even her Aunt Elia.

Myrcella nodded, “You have the same eyes, I think.” She suddenly gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Arianne looked at her, confused, “What are you sorry about?”

“I’m not supposed to mention your lady mother.”

“Not supposed to mention her?” Arianne was more amused than anything, “Who in the world told you that?”

Myrcella looked at her feet, she always did that when she was asked an uncomfortable question. “Septa Eglantine,” she said quietly. “She made me learn all your names and things, but she said Lady Mellario wouldn’t be here and not to mention her.”

“What else did she tell you not to mention?” Myrcella looked at her feet again, but didn’t say anything. She was a loyal little thing. Arianne smiled, “Don’t look so worried, you don’t have to answer that. And you don’t have to be afraid of mentioning my mother either.”

“Trystane never talks about her,” she said, “Prince Trystane, I mean. No one does.”

“Trys barely remembers her.” He’d been barely four years old when their mother took herself and all her turbulent emotions back to Norvos. After all the fuss she had made about being separated from her children, she had just left them all and never come back.

“Are you sad that she’s gone?”

“She wasn’t happy here,” Arianne said. “I suppose I was old enough to see that. I don’t think my brother ever got over it, though.” Quentyn had been their mother’s favourite as well. When he was little he followed her around like a solemn little shadow. Arianne had been too wild and independent of a child for Lady Mellario’s taste. She was always being told to sit and be quiet, to behave like a princess should.

“I always forget that you have another brother,” Princess Myrcella said. _I wish I could_ , Arianne thought bitterly. “Will I ever meet him?”

“I’m sure you will,” Arianne told her. “He used to come down for my father’s name day every year, but not anymore.”

“Do you miss him, Princess Arianne?” she asked. “Do you miss your father?”

Arianne couldn’t help but wish the child would just leave her be, but she could hardly know that she would have rather stabbed herself in the eye than talk about either of them. “Do you miss your mother and brothers?”

Myrcella gave it some thought. “Sometimes I get worried that Tommen misses me,” she said.

“Doesn’t the king miss you?”

“My mother says Joffrey will be too occupied with ruling to miss me.”

“I see,” she said, “but you must miss him.”

Myrcella didn’t say anything for a few moments, she traced patterns in the dust with her finger and looked pensive. “It was strange,” she said, “when he became king. He didn’t really change or anything, but everyone else did. It was like nothing he did was wrong, even when he was being cruel.”

“Cruel?” said Arianne. “To you?”

Myrcella looked at her feet again, “No, not really…and a king has to be cruel sometimes, for the sake of the realm.”

“Is that what your mother says?” Arianne asked, with far more venom than she intended.

The girl look at her, hurt. “I know my mother misses me,” she said. “She didn’t want me to leave at all.”

“Of course not. She didn’t want to part with you.”

“I guess not. And she said I wouldn’t like Dorne, that everything is peculiar here.” She seemed to realize what she was saying, “But it’s not true!” she said quickly., “I do like it here, Prince Trystane is so nice, and so are you. And so is Ser Manfrey, and Lady Tyene, and Ser Ryon, and everyone else.”

“I’m glad you’re happy, sweetling,” Arianne told her gently, “and it’s only natural that you would miss your family.”

“I know,” she said plaintively. “Tommen said he’d write me a letter, but I haven’t gotten one.”

“It may take a while,” Arianne told her, “King’s Landing is far away.”

“That’s what Septa Eglantine said,” Myrcella admitted, “but I always think that it’s because something happened to him.” Arianne felt the bottom fall out of her stomach. How much did the poor child know? She seemed to have read her thoughts. “I know my uncle Stannis wants to be king instead of Joff.”

“Yes,” Arianne confirmed.

“People always talk as though I don’t understand what they’re saying, but I’m not stupid.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid, Myrcella,” Arianne told her. “None of us think that.”

“You only want to protect me, I know,” she said. The words were like a dozen daggers in Arianne’s gut. “Septa Eglantine caught me trying to listen at the door when she was talking to Maester Myles. She said I was very wicked to sneak around like that. But I only want to know what’s happening.”

“Of course you do.” Arianne was quite ashamed of herself. She hadn’t kept Myrcella in the dark to protect her, only to protect herself. But hiding the truth from her now wouldn’t make it easier for either of them in the end. And how could she tell the child it would all be all right? She would know she was being lied to, and there was nothing worse than that. Arianne knew that truth all too well. “I should have told you,” she said. “What else do you know?”

“I know my uncle Renly is dead,” she said. “Is it true that my uncle Stannis killed him?”

“That’s what they’re saying, but I don’t know if it’s true,” Arianne said. “But there’s no doubt that he’s dead.”

Myrcella nodded, “I know he was a traitor, but he was always kind to me.” She bit her lip. “Won’t the gods curse you if you harm your own brother?”

“Stannis wants to be king,” Arianne said, “I suppose when you want something badly enough, you’re willing to do anything for it.”

“And now he wants to kill my brother too.”

“Yes,” Arianne said, “most of the Storm Lords have joined him. They’re going to attack King’s Landing.”

Myrcella’s jaw was trembling, but she didn’t cry. “I knew that too,” she said. “Do you think he’ll win?”

“I don’t know.” It was the truth, although Arianne still felt like a liar. “We’re all waiting for news.”

The girl nodded. “I’m not frightened,” she said, “my mother and my uncle Tyrion sent me here to keep me safe, and I know you will. You, and Septa Eglantine, and Ser Arys.”

_I do want to keep her safe_ , Arianne realized. _And she deserves to be safe_. What did it matter if the queen fucked her brother, or that her grandfather committed murder years before she was even born. Let them pay for it, not Myrcella.

“Yes, I will,” Arianne found herself saying. “I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe.” She hoped desperately she could keep her word, though she couldn’t imagine how. “But you have to be brave.”

“I will be,” Myrcella said, “I promise.”

Trys came into the room and began to pull the sheets off of all the furniture. Myrcella started smiling again as soon as she saw him. Together, they darted around the room, disturbing dust as they went. When they uncovered the Prince’s ornately carved cyvasse table he immediately challenged her to a game.

“I don’t know how to play,” Myrcella said.

“You’re joking,” he said. “Everyone knows how to play cyvasse.”

“Well that can’t be true,” she said, “because I don’t.”

“I can teach you,” Trystane said.

“Is it easy?”

“No, but I can teach you.”

Arianne joined Tyene in the doorway. “I never liked this room,” she said.

“The solar?” Tyene asked. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I don’t know,” she said, “I don’t like how you come in and the first thing you see is the writing table.”

“Is that all?” Tyene said. “You can always have the furniture moved around. One day, I mean.”

Arianne looked at her. “Yes,” she said.

She went back into the antechamber and sat on an uncovered sofa. Tyene sat beside her and put her head on her shoulder.

“I don’t like it when we disagree,” she said.

“We don’t disagree,” Arianne said, “not really. It’s just not…” she sighed. “It does no good to speak of it now.”

“No,” Tyene said, “it may all turn out somehow.”

Tyene was having second thoughts about her callous words now that Myrcella was just in the next room. Her uncle would be just the same, when it all came down to it. She had to believe that.

There were noises in the corridor again. Fretful ones.

“What,” said Arianne, “this entire floor is empty for two years and everyone chooses today to come up?”

Tyene got up and went to investigate. “Septa,” Arianne heard her say. “Princess Myrcella is in here.”

Septa Eglantine came thundering in with Arys Oakheart close behind. She stuck her head through the door that lead from the antechamber to the solar. “Oh, thank the gods!” she said. She saw Arianne sitting there, froze, and turned back to look into the room. “But...” she said, “they’re quite alone in there.”

Arianne raised an eyebrow, “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better, septa,” she said.

“Princess Arianne,” the septa said, “I must confess, I’m quite astonished at you.”

“I beg your pardon?” Arianne was a little astonished herself. The woman had always stopped short of actually criticizing her.

“Princess Myrcella and Prince Trystane must never be alone together.”

“Not be alone together?” It took an effort not to laugh, “They’re children. What do you imagine will happen?”

The septa looked like a bad tempered bull about to charge her, she exhaled sharply through her nose. “It’s not a question of what I “imagine will happen” as you’ve chosen to put it,” she huffed. “Myrcella is the king’s own sister, she must be properly accompanied wherever she goes.”

“By you, I suppose,” Arianne was struggling not to raise her voice. “Besides which, Myrcella didn’t go anywhere; she didn’t even leave the Tower of the Sun, or do you follow her into the privy as well?” She knew she shouldn’t be so brusque, but she had no charity left for the woman, not after her behaviour at Trys’s feast.

Septa Eglantine stared at her for a moment before turning away as though she hadn’t heard. “Ser Arys,” she said,  “fetch Princess Myrcella out of there, if you please.”

The white knight was obviously quite glad for an excuse to leave them.

Arianne glared at the septa, to let her know the discussion wasn’t over just because she wasn’t willing to tell her off in front of Myrcella. She got up and left the room with Tyene.

“That was an improvement,” Tyene said.

Arianne laughed so hard she had to lean against Tyene for support.

“Princess Arianne, what’s so funny?” Myrcella asked.

“Nothing at all, my love,” she said. “Come out of there so we can lock the door.”

When all six of them had left the prince’s rooms, Ser Arys help her shut the heavy doors. She smiled at him as Tyene turned the key in the lock. Septa Eglantine huffed.

Myrcella walked beside her down the stairs. “Could I have a cyvasse table in my chambers?” she asked, “so I can play with Prince Trystane.”

“I told you to stop calling me that,” Trys said, exasperated.

“Trys has one in his room,” Arianne said, “you can always play in there.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t do that,” the girl said.

“If you say so.” They went down three levels, she opened the door out into the corridor and bumped right into Daemon Sand coming in the other direction. “What are you doing here?” she asked before she knew what she was saying.

He looked as shocked as she was, but in just a moment his face hardened. “We’re staying on for a few days,” he said, with no warmth at all, “Prince Oberyn invited us.”

Of course, he would have. She should have expected it. Ser Ryon Allyrion was one of her uncle’s oldest friends and he and Daemon had been close for years. “Yes, I see,” she said lamely. Arianne scrambled for something to say, but not even simple courtesies came to mind. She had seen him hundreds of times in the last eight years and she’s always managed simple courtesy, at least. Had he always been so tall and imposing?

“I’ll do my best to avoid you, my princess,” he said, “if that’s what you’d like.”

Arianne felt herself blush like a little girl. “Why should you need to do that?” she managed. He said nothing. Tyene was regarding them both with a look of absolute annoyance.

She remembered that Myrcella was beside her and seized the opportunity. “Myrcella, this is Ser Daemon Sand.” While he bowed Arianne caught sight of Septa Eglantine’s face and thought it was almost worth it. “We were just going back to ...”

Meria Wade came running up the stairs breathlessly. “I think it’s happened,” she said.

“What!” Daemon said.

“Maester Myles got a bird,” she told them, “and now he looks like he’s in quite a hurry to get somewhere.”

_Oh no_ , Arianne thought. She went to the window on the landing and saw that it was true. The maester was walking briskly across the courtyard towards the Sandship, a letter clutched in his hand. Arianne bolted down the stairs without a second thought, hiking up her skirts to run all the faster and jumping down the last four steps of ever flight. She was only vaguely aware of everyone else following her.

When she reached the courtyard a page was running towards her. “My princess,” he said, “Maester Myles begs that you...”

“I know, I know,” Arianne told him without stopping. She ran along the peristyle walk that connected the Tower of the Sun to the more ancient parts of the palace, up the long staircase, and through the old gates. Once inside the Sandship she took a shortcut through the garrison mess hall where a few dozen men dropped their spoons in shock to see her. She ran through back corridors and up a servant’s step and emerged into the Grand Mezzanine.

The guards on the doors to the council chamber opened them wide for her. She entered with Tyene and Daemon close behind her.

Prince Oberyn was sitting at the council chamber table beside the prince’s empty chair, reading the letter as Maester Myles hovered anxiously. Ser Manfrey, Alyse Ladybright, and Ser Ryon were already there with him and they rose to their feet when she entered, but her uncle only glared at her and held the letter out when she approached.

Arianne snatched it from his hand and poured over the lines. The words made her breathing quicken more than the run from the other side of the palace had. She sat and read it again.

“My princess, I beg you,” Alyse Ladybright said, “don’t keep us in suspense.”

Councillors and courtiers were still arriving in the room. Trys and Princess Myrcella were there with Arys Oakheart, staring at her as expectantly as everyone else. Her mouth was as dry as the desert.

“Lord Stannis’s fleet is smashed,” she said, “it burned on the river.” Her uncle’s hands gripped the arms of his chair so hard that his knuckles were white.

“What about the host from Storm’s End?” Ser Ryon Allyrion asked.

Arianne shook her head, “Defeated,” she told him. “Most of the Storm Lords have already bent the knee. Or they’re dead.”

“That’s impossible,” Ser Manfrey said, with his head in his hands.

“What about Stannis?” Ser Daemon Sand asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “It doesn’t say, but it hardly matters. He’s finished.”

“Does this mean my brothers and my mother are safe?” Myrcella asked her. Her face was flushed and she looked at Arianne with such trust that she thought she might weep.

“Yes,” she said in a whisper, “I don’t think anyone will be able to hurt them now.”

Myrcella did start to weep, her entire little body shook with relief. Trystane looked at her hesitantly for a moment before putting an arm around her awkwardly. She wept into his chest. Septa Eglantine had arrived too, she was gasping and clutching her side and making no move to separate them. Prince Oberyn left his chair and started pacing.

“This is impossible,” Ser Manfrey repeated. “There isn’t even an army at King’s Landing.”

“There is now,” Arianne said, “two of them.” She turned back to the roll of parchment. “Tywin Lannister marched his host down from the riverlands. They met up with the rest of the troops that gathered under Renly’s banner.”

“But those men were in the Reach with Lord Tyrell,” said Daemon Sand.

“Yes,” she agreed. “He and Tywin Lannister have marched into the city together in triumph.”

“Tywin Lannister and Mace Tyrell?” Alyse Ladybright said incredulously.

The only movement in the room was her uncle’s increasingly restless pacing, the only sound was Myrcella’s tears. Arianne looked at Septa Eglantine and the woman seemed to understand her immediately.

“Dearest child, come now,” she said to Myrcella. “We’ll go to the sept and thank the Warrior for the king’s victory.” Prince Oberyn made a sound like an angry dog. “You too, my prince,” the septa said to Trystane.

“I want to stay,” he said.

“Go Trys,” Arianne told him.

The septa herded the children out of the room, leaving devastated silence behind her.

“This is very bad news, isn’t it?” Tyene finally said.

Daemon scoffed. “I don’t see how it could be worse,” he said. “The Lannisters have won the war.”

Prince Oberyn swiped at the nearest chair and sent it crashing down to the floor. They all did their best to ignore it.

“It makes no sense,” Lady Alyse said, “why would Mace Tyrell throw in with the Lannisters?”

“He wanted a cock to suck,” Arianne said sourly, “and I guess Lord Tywin got his there first.”

The Red Viper slammed his fist on the table and sent a pile of papers scattering into Ser Ryon’s face. “Calm down!” Ser Ryon said.

The prince just slammed his fist again. “This never would have happened if we had joined Renly’s host in the first place!” he said angrily.

“Maybe not,” said Arianne, matching his anger, “or maybe you would have drowned in the Blackwater along with Stannis.”

“I suppose it makes no difference to you that that fucking child killer is stronger than he’s ever been,” he bellowed at her. “You’ve gotten what you wanted!”

“You think _this_ is what I wanted?”

“You get to keep your hands clean,” he yelled. “That’s all either of you ever wants!” He kicked the council table with a scream and it went crashing down at Tyene’s feet, spilling ink, paper, and quills everywhere. It would have brought Tyene crashing down too if Daemon hadn’t pulled her out of the way at the last second.

“Have you gone mad!” Arianne screamed.

“Have I gone mad?” He kicked the table again, breaking one of the legs clean off. “I’ve been going mad for sixteen years!”

There were a dozen people in the room now, each face more shocked than the one before. Tyene looked like she was in danger of weeping like Myrcella.

“Ser Manfrey,” Arianne said as soon as she could form the words, “escort Prince Oberyn out of here.”

She saw the castellan hesitate for the briefest of moments, but he put one hand on his sword hilt and the other on her uncle’s shoulder. “Come, my prince,” he said in a strained voice.

“Get your hands off me,” the Red Viper said. He gave the table one last kick before storming out of the room. Ser Manfrey and Ser Ryon both followed him.

“What in seven hells will happen now?” Lord Vaith asked no one in particular.

“The prince will decide what to do,” Alyse Ladybright said.

Arianne didn’t know herself if she was laughing or crying, but everyone was looking at her like they had just looked at Prince Oberyn. “In that case,” she said, “we might as well just continue as we have before.”

She was walking back along the peristyle walk when she met Ser Arys Oakheart.

“Shouldn’t you be in the sept?” she asked him.

“There’s only so much praying I can do, my lady.”

Arianne laughed, though it could hardly be considered a jape. She looked behind her and found that Tyene had disappeared. She could be clever when she needed to be.

“I hope...” she looked him in the eye, and even that seemed to make his blush, “I hope Princess Myrcella isn’t quite so upset as she was.”

“No. She and Prince Trystane were whispering instead of praying. Septa Eglantine was quite annoyed.”

Arianne didn’t have to feign a smile at that. “Trys is very fond of her.”

“I know she’s very fond of him,” he said, “and of you.”

Yes, the child was fond of her, and she trusted her. Hadn’t she just confided in her a few hours ago? And now there was no question of her going anywhere. And that was all to the good, surely. Her uncle was right, Tywin Lannister was stronger now than ever, and who was left to oppose him, the northmen? They didn’t even hold the north. And when he was done with them he could do as he liked. He could impose his will on Dorne and nothing could stop him. Nothing except the fact that they had Myrcella.

_No_ , she thought, _I have Myrcella_. It was good to know she had something. And her brother is the king. A king who had been on the throne less than a year and had already started a war. A king that has almost been murdered by the people of his own capital city.

“I don’t see how anyone could not be fond of her,” she told the knight. “She’s very sweet. And brave. I know she feared more about all this business than she wanted anyone to think.”

“I…she…the princess is very grateful to you,” he said, “you’ve given her great comfort by being so kind to her. She’s always so happy when you come to see her.”

Arianne smiled. Ser Arys Oakheart was never comfortable when she smiled at him. She could have him too, if she made the effort, and in more ways than one. She suspected it was worth it on both accounts. Myrcella trusted him too, after all. “She’s not the only reason I come.” Arianne turned her face away, as though the words had slipped out.

Ser Arys went red again. She could almost see his mind searching for some meaningless gallantry that could serve him. “We all enjoy your company, my princess,” he said, not meeting her eye.

She took a little step towards him, just close enough so she could put a hand lightly on his forearm. “Do you really mean that, ser,” she asked him, “or are you only being courteous?”

His other hand was twitching, like he were struggling not to touch her back. “No,” he said, “I do mean it.”

She looked him full in the face again. He was comely, as comely as any man Arianne had ever seen. He had a strong jaw, but his soft brown eyes were boyish. Everything about him was boyish, though he had to be past thirty.

Arianne had to stand up on her toes to reach, but she gave him a kiss, just a little peck at one corner of his mouth. He did touch her then, on the shoulder, perhaps to push her away, but she didn’t give him the chance. She turned and walked off towards the Tower of the Sun, without looking back at him. There was so much for her to think about, and it was already almost midday.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eglantine as had enough. And so has Arianne.

Eglantine threaded her needle and thought about what a fool she was. About all the things she should have seen, but didn’t.

She was sewing up a linen petticoat that was lighter than the heavy woollen and cotton ones she had brought with her while she listened to Myrcella and Rosamund recite their lessons from the day before.

“Each of the Seven embodies all of the Seven,” they intoned together.

“What does “embodies” mean?” Rosamund asked.

“It means they’re a part of each other,” Myrcella said before the septa could respond. “There’s a little bit of the Father in the Mother and there’s a little bit of the Warrior in the Crone.”

“Not a little bit, Myrcella,” Eglantine corrected her, “everything. Each of the Seven embodies all of the Seven, so the Mother embodies the Father, just as the Father embodies the Mother.”

That seemed to confuse the girl. “So the Father is the Mother?”

“No, of course not,” said Eglantine. “But the Father and the Mother are both part of the same Godhead.”

“I see,” said Myrcella nodding, “and the Godhead is made up of the Seven Gods,” she stated confidently.

“No,” Eglantine explained patiently, “there is only one Godhead.”

They were sitting at the same table they had sat at every morning for weeks, but there was a menace to everything this morning that Eglantine had never felt before. The light shone through the carved wooden shutters on the eastern windows and left dark and light stripes across the floor and the children’s faces. Had that happened every morning? Had it been the Crone trying to warn her?

“So then the Father and the Mother have to be that same,” Myrcella continued, “or else it doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s not suppose to make sense,” said Rosamund, “it’s suppose to be a mystery.”

“Thank you, Rosamund,” Eglantine said. Myrcella got that look in her eye that could only mean she was getting ready to argue, but the septa cut her off. “Don’t be stubborn, Myrcella,” she said, “a pious lady would never question one of the central tenants of the Faith. Are you a pious lady?”

“Yes, septa,” she said, “but...”

“What is it?” She prompted resignedly.

“Isn’t it true that the Mother can be fierce to defend her children, and the Warrior can be merciful to a fallen foe?”

“Yes, of course,” said Eglantine, “and both need the Crone’s wisdom.” _We could all use a bit of that_. “But the Mother’s mercy is what makes Her the Mother. Without it She wouldn’t be.”

“Then what would She be?”

“The question is inappropriate,” the septa said. “The Godhead can’t be anything but what it is. It’s perfect.”

“But what about when a lioness will fight to protect her cubs? She doesn’t show any mercy.”

_No, she wouldn’t_. The queen had tried to warn her. _You must guard her too_ , the lioness had told her, _Dorne will be dangerous_. But she never imagine the danger could be to Myrcella’s body.

“Lions aren’t made in the image of the Seven,” Eglantine told her. “You shouldn’t look to them for models of behaviour.”

That made Myrcella laugh, “No, of course not, septa.” And she finally turned back to her lesson.

Eglantine turned back to her sewing and only slightly attended to them. She truly hadn’t known. She hadn’t realize the danger until she saw all those Dornish faces the day before, and then a hundred little things that had gnawed at the edge of her awareness started to make sense.

_They didn’t even toast the king’s health_. How could any lord in Westeros have a feast and not toast the king’s health? But she had been so distracted that she hadn’t noticed, not until she saw the look in Prince Oberyn’s eye when Myrcella asked if her brother still lived. He hated her, and he hated King Joffrey. Perhaps they all did. What else was there to think? They had greeted news of the king’s victory with anger and despair. Even Princess Arianne, who Eglantine had been convinced must have some affection for her princess, had seemed so…disappointed.

Eglantine looked down and saw that her seam was hopelessly crooked. She sighed in frustration and began to unpick the last ten minutes worth of work.

What had they all been hoping for? For the rebels to triumph, undoubtedly, but then? Why would Prince Doran consent to foster Myrcella in the first place, to betroth her to his own son, if he meant to throw in with a traitor?

Unbidden, unwelcome, Eglantine remembered the story that had been whispered for fifteen years, of two tiny corpses wrapped up in red cloaks and laid at the foot of the Iron Throne. The thought took her mind to such horrible places that she put down her needle all together and closed her eyes in an effort to push them away.

The story wasn’t true, but even if it were, the Mother, in her mercy, had spared them; Myrcella must be safe now. The king had been victorious, now he had all the power of the stormlands and the Reach behind him, and Stannis was surely dead. The Dornishmen wouldn’t dare harm her now, or her lord grandfather would crush them just as he had the traitorous lord of Dragonstone.

But it all disturbed her. Had her mother and her uncle known they were sending the child into a nest of treason? Perhaps that was why they had sent her with her own knight of the Kingsguard to be her sworn shield? Ser Arys was gallant and skilled at arms, Eglantine had no doubt, and he loved Myrcella well, but what hope did one man have against every knight in Dorne? Against the Red Viper?

They went out for a stroll in the gardens before lunching.

This garden was hardly as lush as the godswood in King’s Landing, but there were pools full of little golden fish and cedars and fruit trees to provide shade. There were few flowers, however; the soil was too poor. Instead, there were orchids poking through rocks. Their colour was dazzling amid all the dry brown.

Ser Arys had come with them. He stayed beside Eglantine while Myrcella and her cousin walked together in front of them, arm-in-arm and whispering. She wondered what secrets they could possibly have.

The knight was wearing his white cloak, a fine silk one clasped at the shoulder with a pin shaped like a green oak leaf. It was likely the only oak leaf in all of Dorne. He wore his ringmail and his sword belt, but everyday he seemed to be more lightly armoured. Within a year he would look just like one of them.

“It really is beastly hot,” the septa said. “What must it be like in summer?”

“Yes,” Ser Arys said. “Perhaps the heat is why everyone is so cross.”

“I doubt that,” the septa said. “I think it’s more likely the bad news they just received yesterday.” She made no attempt to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, though she would have chided Myrcella for speaking like that.

Ser Arys looked grave, and she knew he had seen what she had. He exhaled thoughtfully. “I’ve found that there’s often more to these matters that you or I are ever privy to, septa. You can’t always tell what a great lord is thinking by what he says.”

“Perhaps you’re right, ser,” she said, “and I’ve never made it a habit to question these things, but I must confess that I’m uneasy. Princess Myrcella is so far from all her friends.”

“That’s not true,” the knight said stoutly. “She has me, and I won’t let any harm come to her.”

“I know,” Eglantine said sincerely, “and that’s my greatest comfort.”

“It’s true that the Dornishmen in general have been rather cold to Myrcella,” he said. “But Prince Trystane certainly hasn’t. And Princess Arianne seems very fond of her.”

“Yes,” Eglantine said pointedly, “Princess Arianne seems fond of a good many people.”

She saw some colour rise in Ser Arys’s cheeks, he cleared his throat gently, “I don’t know what you mean, septa.”

“I think you do.”

His face turned properly red then. “I think that’s rather unjust of you,” he said. “There are always those who are eager to speak maliciously about great ladies. And Princess Arianne has a great many cares.”

The girls had found a fig tree in bloom and were gathering blossoms. They paused and watched them for a moment while Eglantine worked up the nerve to speak again. “I know it’s not my place, Ser Arys,” she told him, “but I’ve lived longer in the world than you have, so I feel I must ask you. Do you know the danger you’re in? I don’t think that lady is what you imagine her to be.”

“I don’t imagine her to be anything,” he said sharply. “And you’re quite right, septa, it isn’t your place.”

Eglantine felt the colour rise in her own cheeks, but Ser Arys had the courtesy not to say anymore. He walked away from her to lift Rosamund up to reach a clump of blossoms on a high branch. The septa had only just settled herself on a bench when Myrcella ran over with her hands full of little pink flowers.

“Septa,” she said, “do you think you could put some of these in my hair?”

The princess sat at her feet while she arranged the flowers in her beautifully thick golden hair. She had such lovely hair, Eglantine’s hair had never been like that. Even when she was young it was thin and limp and flaxen. Now it had gone grey, and so sparse she could see her scalp through it. It made her grateful she had given up vanity long ago.

“Can we go to the yard before we go back?” Myrcella asked.

“Do you want Prince Trystane to see your hair?” the septa asked with a smile. The child blushed, but it only made Eglantine smile more. “Of course we can, my love.”

“Septa,” Myrcella said again, “may I ask you another question?”

“You can ask me anything you like.”

“Well, I was thinking,” she said, “if a mother has to be merciful and a warrior has to be fierce, does that mean a mother can’t be a warrior?”

“In a way, I suppose it does,” Eglantine said. “The Seven made mothers to begin life, and warriors to end it, if need be. For a woman to do both would be unnatural. And besides which, women aren’t formed to be warriors in the first place. Just as men aren’t formed to be mothers.”

“I know,” Myrcella said, “it’s only that… Princess Nymeria was a mother and a warrior. She defeated six kings and sent them to the Wall.”

Eglantine frowned, “Nymeria lived a long time ago,” she said, “and she didn’t know the Seven.”

“Yes she did,” Myrcella contradicted immediately. “She built the Prince’s Sept in the shadow city after Prince Mors was killed in the Boneway, and she prayed there before she made war on the king who killed him.” She turned her head to look at Eglantine with a smug look on her face, “We read about it last week. Don’t you remember, septa?”

“Of course I remember,” Eglantine said. She couldn’t bring herself to chide her, the Dornish always confused everything. “Come sit by me.” Myrcella moved to sit beside her on the bench and looked up at her expectantly. “My love, just because someone builds a sept and makes a show of piety, it doesn’t mean that they know the Seven. Knowing the Seven means giving yourself over to what They intend for you, and having faith that the greatest happiness can be found there.”

Myrcella spent a few moments considering that. “So...” she began, “Princess Nymeria wasn’t happy, even though she had lots of children and won a lot of victories?”

“I don’t know,” Eglantine said, “perhaps she thought herself happy, but the truth is that women aren’t formed to rule or to wage war, and the Seven bless those who do what they were formed to do.”

“But my mother is ruling now,” Myrcella said, “and she’s fighting a war. Don’t the Seven bless her?”

“Of course they do,” Eglantine reassured her. “It’s not the same thing at all. She’s ruling in your royal brother’s name. When he comes of age, she’ll step aside, as is right. And your lord grandfather is fighting the war, not your mother.”

“I suppose so...”

Eglantine put her arm around the child’s shoulders, “Sometimes a woman must rule in name,” she explained to her, “if she has no brothers, or if her sons are too young to rule themselves, but if she is wise and she obeys the will of the Seven, she will trust in the men whose duty it is to protect her to guide her in everything.”

Myrcella nodded, and Eglantine prayed she was satisfied. “But,” the child started again, and Eglantine had to resist telling her to please shut up, “Princess Arianne has brothers, and she’s going to rule when her father dies, just like Nymeria did. Girls always come before their younger brothers here, and they know the Seven.”

Eglantine frowned. “They’ve always done things differently in Dorne,” she said, “no matter how much the Faith had tried to convince them that there’s a better way.” Myrcella opened her mouth to speak again, but Eglantine headed her off, “No more questions just now, we’ll go to the yard and watch the boys at their training.”

They collected Rosamund, who had gathered enough blossoms to cover a bower, and started off towards the training yard on the other side of the keep. The girls were talking and giggling again, and throwing fig blossoms at each other. Ser Arys was avoiding her eye.

“Septa?” Myrcella asked yet again.

“What is it now, child?” Eglantine responded, annoyed.

“I was just thinking,” she said, oblivious to her tone, “when Prince Trystane and me get married and have babies,” she paused to give Rosamund a dirty look for giggling at her, “then they’ll be Dornish, won’t they?”

“Yes,” Eglantine agreed.

“So they’ll do things differently too.”

“It’s your duty, Myrcella, to see that your sons are taught what is right.”

“But what if I have daughters?”

“You’ll have sons and daughters.”

“Maybe not,” Rosamund said. “Prince Oberyn has eight daughters and no sons at all. Did you know that, septa?”

“I confess,” Eglantine said with yet another frown, “I didn’t know the exact number.”

“That must be a great trial to him,” Ser Arys said earnestly. Eglantine felt her frown deepen. Too many daughters had certainly been a trial to her own father. Even as a child she had known that another sister was not an occasion for joy. There had been a brother, at last, but Eglantine had never seen him, she’d been a novice by then. He was a man grown now, with sons of his own.

“I don’t think it is,” Rosamund said. “No one says it is.”

“Prince Trystane said that next time we go riding together his cousins will come too. And he said that Lady Obella thought I was very pretty. I think she’s very pretty too, I should like her to come.”

“No,” Eglantine said, “ _Lady_ Obella won’t be going with you anywhere.”

“Why not?”

_Don’t question me_ , Eglantine was about to say, but before she could Rosamund giggled again, “You’re so silly Myrcella,” she said, “it’s because she’s a bastard. They’re all bastards.”

Myrcella was frowning, “If they’re bastards, why are they allowed to play with Prince Trystane?”

“I don’t know,” Eglantine admitted, “that’s not our concern.”

“Does that mean Lady Tyene is a bastard too?”

“She is.”

“Are you sure, septa?” Myrcella asked her. “She doesn’t seem like a bastard, and Princess Arianne really likes her.”

“What a question,” Eglantine exclaimed. “Of course I’m sure.”

The yard was dusty and noisy with men and horses but the covered gallery above it was hung with gauzy silk hangings all around to make a sort of pavilion free from sun and dirt. It looked wonderfully cool, but the girls preferred the view from the steps leading down from the courtyard.

The boys were riding at rings. Eglantine recognized Prince Trystane’s grey horse with its jet black mane. They watched the young prince make a pass and miss the ring quite widely. The boy behind him got it rather deftly, however. Eglantine heard him laugh inside his helmet as he rode back to replace it.

The prince got his ring on the next pass but even Eglantine, who knew little enough about these things, could see it was rather gracelessly done. The girls didn’t seem to think so, they clapped and laughed happily.

Prince Trystane came towards them and took off his helmet, his dark hair was plastered to his face. Eglantine wondered how the poor boy could stand the heat.

“You looked splendid!” Myrcella said.

“Did I?” Prince Trystane asked humbly, “I think almost everyone is better than I am.”

“No, they’re not,” Myrcella said loyally.

Ser Gascoyne of the Greenblood came up alongside the prince. He was a short, swarthy man, but powerfully built. Eglantine wished she could like him, for Prince Trystane’s sake, but he was lowborn and coarse, and far too familiar.

“Hello there, princess,” he said to Myrcella. “Come to see the show, have you?”

Myrcella nodded, “I think Prince Trystane was splendid.”

Ser Gascoyne raised an eyebrow.

The other boy came over with the ring still on his lance from the last run. He threw it down and took off his own helmet to reveal that he wasn’t a boy at all, but a girl who was no less pretty for all the sweat she was drenched it. Eglantine recognized her as the young maid from the feast who had complained so loudly about her little sister. The only thing that surprised the septa was how little she was surprised.

“Trys,” Elia Sand said, “come back, I’m only four points ahead.”

“No,” said Ser Gascoyne, “I think we’ve all had enough for today.”

“Oh, come on, Ser Gascoyne, just a few more runs.”

“Absolutely not, my lady,” he said. “You’ve been at it for hours, and so has your horse.”

The bastard girl looked peevish, but Prince Trystane looked relieved. “Myrcella can lunch with us here,” he said.

“Princess Myrcella will have lunch in her rooms, like usual,” Eglantine said.

“Don’t worry, septa,” Ser Gascoyne said, “we won’t run out of food. Neither of these girls look like they eat much in any case.”

Myrcella looked so happy at the idea of eating in the yard that Eglantine knew she was defeated. It was a feeling that was becoming increasingly familiar. The group dismounted and headed towards the armoury. Myrcella followed along, and Rosamund followed her, and Ser Arys followed them both.

Eglantine retreated to the table in the gallery and poured herself a goblet of water from the flagon there. It was at least half ice. She drank it in four large gulps and poured herself another one. She stood just outside the hangings, on the side closest to the stairs, where she would be able to see the children when they came out of the armoury, and still remain in the shade.

Within a few minutes, Ser Ryon Allyrion and his son Ser Daemon came up the stairs and sat at the table. They passed within a few feet of Eglantine but didn’t seem to see her standing there half obscured by the blowing hangings, but she had gotten used to that thirty years ago. She supposed they were lunching there too, there was enough room for a score of people.

“I’m not avoiding the discussion, there’s nothing to discuss,” Ser Daemon was saying.

“You must be the only one in Sunspear who feels that way,” his father said. They had been at work in the yard as well, and were sitting in their ringmail.

“I’m not to blame for what people say,” the younger man responded, “and neither is she.”

“Of course she’s to blame,” his father said. “No one would have anything to talk about at all if she hadn’t felt the need to flaunt her conquests in public.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No.” He said, but his father gave him a sharp look. “Not this time,” Ser Daemon amended. “You can tell everyone their speculation is as baseless as it ever was.”

“I’ve already told everyone that,” Ser Ryon said, “but I’d like to think it’s actually true.”

“Yes, it’s true!” his son said. “You don’t doubt that, do you?”

“I don’t know,” the knight said. “You haven’t always been in your right mind, where that woman is concerned.”

“‘That woman,’ Father?” Ser Daemon repeated. “Does Prince Oberyn know you call her that?”

“Well,” Ser Ryon said, “not even he was able to defend her when she turned you into an inconsolable heap for half a year.” His son said nothing. “I know you were young...”

“We were both young,” the bastard knight said, “but I’m not fifteen anymore.”

“No,” Ser Ryon agreed. He grabbed a flagon of wine and poured them each a goblet. “And even when you were, it was never you who did anything wrong.”

“I know that,” his son said, “you’ve told me so often enough. And you’re not the only one.”

“After the way she treated you, she has no right to snap her fingers and expect you to come running back to her side like a well trained dog.”

“I told you,” Daemon Sand said, “that’s not what happened.”

“But she seems to think we all exist to serve her vanity.”

“Don’t. Please,” he said with sudden emotion. “Don’t talk about her that way.”

Ser Ryon was silent for a time. He was looking at his son as though he just realized what Eglantine could have told him within a minute of first seeing him. “Gods be good, Daemon,” he finally said.

“I’m sorry,” Ser Daemon said, “I...”

“No,” said his father, “I’m sorry I didn’t…. we won’t stay here. Prince Oberyn can shift for himself when he returns. We can all go to Yronwood for a few weeks, if you like.”

“Anywhere that’s not here will do.”

“It’s settled then.”

The children came streaming out of the armoury, not just her charges and the young prince and his cousin, but close to a dozen other boys as well. Eglantine only knew a few of them by name. They were the sons of the greatest lords in Dorne, no doubt. Or maybe they were the stable boys.

The septa pulled out a chair for Myrcella near the head of the table. For once the girl got the hint and sat where she was bid while the others jostled about for seats and generally made a great fuss of the thing. She found herself between the princess and Ser Ryon Allyrion.

“Septa Eglantine,” he said surprised, “when did you get here?”

“I’ve been here this whole time, ser,” she told him.

The food began to arrive. Plates and plates of salads and bowls of olives. There were quails roasted with figs and grilled snake steaks covered in sauce.

Rosamund Lannister was eating a quail leg with delicate little bites and staring at Elia Sand across from her shoving olives into her mouth three at a time. Eglantine silently berated herself for her inability to keep Myrcella out of these scrapes.

“What are you looking at?” Elia Sand finally said.

“You’re a girl,” Rosamund said.

“So are you.”

“Yes, but I look like a girl.”

Myrcella giggled. The bastard rounded on her. “Why do you have flowers in your hair?”

“Because they make me look pretty,” Myrcella said, “and more like a girl.” She and Rosamund fell into a cascade of giggles.

“I think it looks pretty,” Prince Trystane said, seated next to his cousin.

“Well, I think it looks stupid,” she said with a red face.

“You’re not very nice,” Myrcella said.

“And no one cares what you think anyway,” Rosamund added.

“Children, that’s enough,” Eglantine said. Prince Trystane muttered that he was sorry, though of the four of them, he had the least to answer for.

There was an uncomfortable silence for a time before Ser Daemon Sand broke it. “Trystane, why are you soaking wet?”

Eglantine saw that it was true. The prince’s hair was dripping onto his surcoat. Myrcella giggled again, “He stuck his head in the horse trough.”

“Ridiculous,” Ser Gascoyne said.

“I was hot,” Prince Trystane said defensively.

“If you spend half as much time practising as you did showing off we would all be far more pleased with your progress.”

The young prince shrugged, “I’ll never be any good anyway.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said Ser Daemon, “if that’s what you tell yourself.”

“I think he’s good,” said Myrcella again.

The knight took a sip of wine to cover his smirk, “That’s very admirable of you, my princess.”

“Besides, what do you know about jousting?” said Elia Sand.

Myrcella glared at the girl, “I know lots about it,” she said, “I’ve been to dozens of tournaments.”

Elia Sand started to laugh, but stopped when her cousin punched her in the arm. She turned and punched him right back. “Watching tourneys doesn’t mean you know anything about fighting, does it Daemon?”

“I’m not getting involved in this,” he said, still smirking.

“Battle and tourney are certainly two different things,” said Ser Ryon Allyrion.

Elia Sand smirked at Myrcella smugly.

“What does it matter?” asked Rosamund. “Girls can’t fight in tourneys or in battle.”

“Says who?”

“Says everyone,” Myrcella replied sagely. “Women aren’t formed to be warriors.”

“That’s stupid!”

“You’re not allowed to call a princess stupid!” said Rosamund hotly.

“Rosamund,” Eglantine said quietly, putting a hand on her arm, “don’t make a scene.”

“But she’s not allowed,” Rosamund whispered through tears, “it’s not right.”

“It’s not true, though,” Prince Trystane said. “What about Nymeria?”

“Nymeria doesn’t count,” Myrcella said immediately.

“Why doesn’t she count?” asked Ser Daemon Sand.

Myrcella’s brow crinkled, “I’m not sure.”

A dozen or more chairs scraped against the stone ground of the courtyard as their occupants got to their feet. Eglantine turned her head to see Tyene Sand parting the hangings.

“Good morning, everyone,” she said cheerfully. “I should have known you’d all be here.”

“Are you going to eat with us, Tyene?” Prince Trystane asked, he was the only one of the Dornishmen who had stayed in his seat.

“No, no,” she said, “I’m only here to collect Septa Eglantine.”

“Me, my lady?” Eglantine asked.

“Indeed,” Tyene Sand said. “Princess Arianne wishes to speak with you.”

Eglantine frowned, talking to Arianne Martell was the last thing she wanted to do. “Oh, but...” she started, “Princess Myrcella...”

“I’ll see the princess gets back safely,” Ser Arys Oakheart assured her.

Reluctantly, Eglantine left her place at the table and started across the bailey with the bastard lady.

“Was she giving you cheek?” Tyene Sand asked her as they made their way to the peristyle walk.

“I’m sorry?”

“My sister,” she said. “I shouldn’t let it upset me, if I were you. She gives everyone cheek.”

“Yes,” Eglantine said. She had no wish whatsoever to have a friendly chat with this woman either, and certainly not about her insolent little sister. “Your half-sister,” she said shortly.

She seemed to ignore that. “Our father spoils her,” she said. “He even knows he’s doing it, but he can’t help himself.”

“I see.”

“She reminds him of his own sister, of course,” she continued. “That why he indulges some of her more willful notions.”

Eglantine felt her steps slowing, “Princess Elia, you mean,” she said quietly. “Prince Rhaegar’s wife?”

“Hmm,” Tyene Sand agreed in a pleasant tone, “perhaps he thinks that if she knew how to fight with a lance she wouldn’t have been murdered.”

Eglantine’s heart leapt. It all seemed to go back to those children wrapped in red cloaks. She wanted to run back to Myrcella, to know she was safe. Somehow she resisted. _Ser Arys is with her_ , she thought, _I’m a foolish old woman_.

They resumed their walking, and Tyene Sand started to chatter again. “We all spoiled her when she was little,” she said, “she was the first baby in the family, after the war and all the… unpleasantness.”

“Of course,” Eglantine said, “Prince Oberyn must have suffered a great deal.”

“We all did,” Tyene Sand said. She smiled. There were dimples in her cheeks, but in that moment she looked so much like her father that it took Eglantine aback.

They entered the Tower of the Sun and began to climb the stairs. The bastard hopped up them like a cat, but she was young and Eglantine was not. She was soon out of breath, though Tyene Sand never slowed down. They climbed almost to the top and entered the princess’s suite of rooms. They were as airy and richly furnished as she had expected.

Down a short passage, the door to the solar was wide open. Tyene Sand knocked on it perfunctorily and strolled in without waiting for an answer. Eglantine followed her inside to find Princess Arianne behind a writing desk at the far side of the room. “Septa Eglantine is here as you commanded, my princess,” Tyene Sand said with a snide formality.  

“So I see,” the princess said with equal irony. “Thank you.”

Tyene Sand curtsied and left, closing the door behind her with an ominous click.

“You look like you’re out of breath, septa,” Princess Arianne said. “Would you like a glass of lemonsweet?”

“Thank you.”

The princess poured some sugared lemon water from the jug on her desk into a beautiful blue glass of cut crystal. Myrish, no doubt. She came out from behind the writing desk and put it in Eglantine’s hand. The septa was taller than the younger woman by a head. She had never noticed that before.

“Won’t you sit,” she said, motioning towards a pair of settees by the window. The septa waited until she’d set herself down on one before sitting on the other. They sat in silence while Eglantine drank. She could hear the princess’s silver bangles clinking whenever she moved her arms. She was as bejeweled as always, with sapphires dangling from her earlobes and pearls in her hairnet. Eglantine didn’t doubt she wore jewels to bed. There was usually someone there to impress, in any case.

“I hope you haven’t suffered from the heat,” Princess Arianne said conversationally. “Myrcella mentioned yesterday that you hadn’t been feeling well.”

“I must have eaten something strange,” Eglantine said. “I’m never ill for long.” Septa Anelle once said she had the constitution of an aurochs.

“No,” the lady said, “neither am I.”

Eglantine said nothing. She stared at the cut crystal of the glass in her hand, afraid that if she looked at her she would betray all her feelings.

“And Myrcella,” the princess continued, “how is she feeling? I hope she’s not still overwrought.” When Eglantine remained silent she pressed on, “We were all rather overwhelmed with our relief.”

“Yes,” Eglantine snapped without really intending it, “I saw your relief for myself, my princess.”

The fake little smile she was wearing fell away entirely. “Relief and surprise,” she said. “We all feared the worst.”

Eglantine was disgusted. What did the girl think, that she could fool her into believing that she hadn’t been hoping for the king’s death? Or was it Myrcella she wanted to fool? “You needn’t fear now,” she said, “Princess Myrcella has no understanding of your… true feelings.”

The princess scoffed, “I’ve found that Myrcella often understands more than you seem to think she does.”

“I hope you’re wrong,” the septa said. “Princess Myrcella believes that you have her best interests at heart.”

“And you don’t believe I do,” the princess supplied. If Eglantine’s words offended her, she made no sign of it. “I can hardly blame you for thinking that, but you’re quite wrong, I care a good deal about Myrcella, and I do want what’s best for her.”

“If that’s the case,” Eglantine said, “I find it surprising that you’re not more concerned about your own behaviour, given that Princess Myrcella has looked to you as an example.”

The corners of the princess’s mouth turned up in the slightest hint of a smirk. “And what is it I should be so concerned about?”

“It’s not my place to criticize your conduct, my princess,” Eglantine said.

“You already have,” she said archly, “you may as well put all your men under that same banner.”

“If you wish,” the septa said. She placed her glass down on the low table between the settees and steeled herself. “I find it astonishing that a young woman in your position is even given the licence that you have. You’re able to do just as you please, and not answer to anyone. But I’ve accepted that it’s your way here.”

“How magnanimous of you.”

Eglantine ignored that. She felt as though she had been waiting years for this. “You’ve used that license to behave without any kind of modesty or womanly diffidence. You seem completely unrepentant about your own loss of virtue, and without any kind of regard for your own honour, or the credit of your father and your family.”

The septa had hoped that her words would shame Princess Arianne, but she was disappointed. She just kept smirking.

“And you’re afraid that Myrcella will grow to be as wanton and intractable as I am?”

“I’m afraid that Myrcella will see all her prospects shattered and her hope of marriage and children along with it.”

“You needn’t worry about that, septa,” the princess said. “My brother will never be the overly possessive kind.”

“I see that your brother’s honour and pride are a source of amusement for you as well.”

“My brother’s pride and honour are not as delicate as that,” she said. “Myrcella is hellbent on pleasing him and she’s succeeded. In fact, pleasing people is all she seems to care about. If she’s ever had a will of her own, you’ve entirely crushed it under the weight of your obsession with decorum and obedience.”

“Princess Myrcella is the daughter of a king, the sister of a king,” Eglantine said, “and she’s entitled to always be treated as such, no matter how much it may be in your interests to forget who she is.”

“Princess Myrcella is a child,” the princess said. “A little girl who you treat more like you prisoner than your charge. She would never leave her chambers if I left you to yourself. She needs other children about her, she needs to be pushed in the mud a few times.”

“By ‘other children’ I assume you mean the by-blows you’ve been attempting to force on her.”

Princess Arianne looked her straight in the face. “I would thank you not to refer to Prince Oberyn’s daughters in that manner.” She hadn’t raised her voice, she wore the same sardonic expression on her face, but something in her manner, in the look in her eye, made Eglantine realize, perhaps for the first time, who it was she was speaking to.

In the days of Aegon the Conqueror, after the High Septon had anointed the Targaryen king with the seven oils, Dorne had still not submitted. So His High Holiness had sent one of the Most Devout to tell Princess Meria that the gods wished her to bend the knee. That holy man was scorned until the end of his life for being intimidated by a blind old woman, but in that moment, Eglantine understood why he had gone running back to Oldtown.

Princess Arianne had kept her anger in check thus far. But she would get her way, not matter what Eglantine did or said.

“My princess, please,” Eglantine began, “I never meant to offend you...”

“No, I never supposed so. But you did offend me, and you offended my uncle. He loves his children.”

“I don’t doubt it, my princess, and it does him a great deal of credit, but they’re baseborn, from a baseborn mother. The queen...”

“Prince Doran has a great deal of respect for Lady Ellaria, and so do I,” Princess Arianne said. “And she’s been a good deal more charitable to you than I would be in her position.”

“Yes,” Eglantine said, her own voice sounded so small, “but the queen, Myrcella’s own mother, she has always been very particular about her daughter’s companions, and I know she would never approve of the princess associating with any bastard. No matter how respectable you or Prince Doran may consider her to be.”

“That may be, but the queen isn’t here,” Princess Arianne stated. “She’s chosen to make Myrcella my father’s ward and he, in turn, has given her care into my charge. It’s not the queen’s decision who Myrcella’s companions are, nor is it yours. It’s mine.”

Eglantine could think of nothing to say to contradict her. Because it was true. “My princess,” she continued, “Myrcella has been gently brought up, she’s not used to noise or roughness. It’s been my duty ever since she was a babe to see her educated as befits her station in life.”

“In that case you’ve done her poor service,” Princess Arianne went on mercilessly. “As far as I can see, she’s never been taught anything but to not offend anyone. You should consider it a mercy that she’s naturally as clever and curious as she is, because I promise you, when I rule in Dorne I will expect my brother’s wife to be of more use to me than as a broodmare or a pretty ornament.”

“I’ve tried to teach her to do her duty, my princess.” And gods help her it was true, “I’ve raised three families of daughters into womanhood, and I’ve always taught them to do their duty.”

“Their duty?” Princess Arianne said, “and what is Myrcella’s duty, as you see it? Is it to show my father’s bannermen how much she scorns them?”

“No, my princess,” Eglantine said, “Myrcella would never...”

“Well, what do you imagine they were thinking when they saw you insult my cousin in public? There are very few in Dorne who love Myrcella’s family, or her betrothal. Surely her duty is to change their minds.”

“Yes,” Eglantine admitted.

“Then she’ll have to learn to be the princess they expect her to be. And that means things will need to be quite different. The lords will never love a princess who they think is useless or arrogant, the people will never love a princess who they never see. And I won’t tolerate anyone about her who makes her disdain for us and our ways as obvious as you do.”

To Eglantine’s surprise, there were tears on her cheeks. She was crying like she hadn’t since she was a girl. The thought of exposing herself to more of the princess’s scorn made her cover her face with her hands.

She heard the clicking of silver bangles and felt the weight of someone sitting down next to her. “There now,” Princess Arianne said, putting her arm around Eglantine’s shoulder, “I didn’t mean to upset you quite so much.” She pressed a handkerchief into Eglantine’s hand. It was silk and edged with needle-made lace, she felt rather odd wiping her nose with it. “I know no one has made things easy for you here.”

“That’s not so,” Eglantine said, trying to compose herself. “Everyone had been very courteous.”

“Courtesy and kindness are different things.”

“You’ve been very kind to Myrcella, my princess.”

“But not to you,” the princess said. “I’ve scorned you to your face and laughed at you behind your back, and that was wrong of me. Myrcella is a selfless and good-hearted child, and you must have the credit of that. I certainly can’t imagine that she got it from anywhere else.”

Eglantine couldn’t help but smile. “She’s always been like that.”

The princess smiled as well. “And she’ll be all the more happy for a few more friends, I’m sure of it.”

“As you say, my princess.”

“She’ll win them over,” she said, “she’s won over everyone else.”

Yes, she will, Eglantine thought. Myrcella had a way of winning people over. Just like Princess Arianne did.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arianne can’t lie to herself anymore.

Ordinarily, when Prince Oberyn went to attend on his brother at the Water Gardens he was back in time for supper. On occasion he would stay the night, but he hated to be away from Sunspear and his children for long. So when he stayed for a week, even summoning Ellaria to join him, Arianne was half afraid that he had decided to hide away there forever, just like Prince Doran, to free himself from the strain of her presence. But he reappeared one morning, after another fortnight, while she was sitting alone in the garden reading.

“You’re back, are you?” she said when he sat down beside her and took off his riding gloves with a conscious kind of flourish.

“Of course I am,” he said. “There’s only so much peace and quiet I can take.” He poured himself some wine.

“I suppose you’ve heard all the news.”

“Most likely,” her uncle said. “What news do you mean?”

“That Lord Stannis is alive,” she said. Few men responded to being decisively defeated in the field by sending a fresh crop of ravens demanding fealty, but Stannis Baratheon was apparently one such.

“Yes,” Prince Oberyn said. “Though I don’t see what good being alive will do him at this stage.”

“And the Tyrell marriage,” Arianne said, “I suppose you heard about that, too.”

He laughed. “Oh certainly,” he said, “that amount of cock sucking never comes for free.”

“Who’s sucking whose, I wonder.”

“I don’t.” They sat in silence for a time while he drank and she read. “Are we still enemies?” he asked her.

“Enemies?” Arianne said, surprised. “We were never enemies. We never could be.”

“So when we were screaming at each other in public, it was just because we were friends who disagreed?”

“What were we even disagreeing about?” she said, “maybe you were right about everything.”

“No, I wasn’t” he said with a conviction she rarely heard in him. “You were right, and I was wrong.”

Arianne shook her head, “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not,” her uncle said, “it’s true. She’s a child, and I was a hypocrite. Sometimes, when you’re desperate enough for something, it becomes easy to talk yourself into what you know is wrong.”

“I understand.”

“No, you don’t,” he told her, “and I hope you never will.” He smiled. “I’ve admitted my fault, now tell me you’ve forgiven me.”

“I might,” the princess said, returning his smile, “if I thought for a moment it meant that you would actually change.”

He laughed at her again, “You know, little princess, sometimes you remind me so much of my mother it actually frightens me.”

Arianne didn’t say anything. She tried to get back to her book, suddenly quite done with the conversation, but Prince Oberyn had no intention of letting her be, it seemed.

“Aren’t you going to ask how he is?” he said.

“How is he?”

“Just the same,” her uncle said, “he never changes.”

“I thought he might have,” said Arianne, “since he was able to hold your interest for so long.”

It was Prince Oberyn’s turn to end the conversation. He poured himself some more wine and looked around uncomfortably.

“Where’s Tyene?” he said after a few moments.

“I don’t know,” Arianne said, annoyed with the evasion. “She ran off somewhere after the girls.”

“My girls?”

“No, Myrcella, Rosamund, and Obella,” she told him. “They said something about playing Princess Nymeria and ran off. The gods only know where.”

Prince Oberyn seemed quite impressed, “Do the three of them do that often?”

Arianne smiled, trying not to look too smug.

“And Trystane,” her uncle continued, “does he run off with them as well?”

“He does,” she admitted, “when he gets the chance. Though I think he prefers to have Myrcella to himself.”

The Red Viper chucked, “Do they like to find dark corners together?” he asked with a suggestive smirk.

“What?” said Arianne, flabbergasted. “No, they’re too young for that.”

“She is, maybe.”

“And so is Trys,” Arianne insisted. The idea was stupid, he couldn’t even talk about girls without blushing.

“He’s thirteen,” Prince Oberyn stated. “Do I need to tell you what I was like when I was thirteen? Or what you were like, for that matter?”

“We’re not discussing you or me, we’re discussing Trys,” she said. _My little brother_.

“Is he made differently from other boys?”

“No,” she admitted, “but he doesn’t think about things like that. Not yet. Not for a few more years at least.”

“If you say so.”

Arianne heard a delighted shriek. Her cousin Obella was running towards her father excitedly. He left his seat and tossed her in the air when she ran into his arms. Arianne looked away.

“I missed you,” Obella said.

“I missed you,” Prince Oberyn returned. “I think you’ve gotten taller.”

“I don’t think I have,” said Obella. She sat down next to him at the table.

“What sort of mischief have you been making?”

“We climbed up all the stairs, all the way up to the top of the Spear Tower.”

“All that way?” he asked. “Why would you do that?”

Obella shrugged, “Just to see how far we could see from there. We saw you arriving; that’s why we came running back down.”

Tyene came with much more self-possession than her sister, but she was no less happy to see their father. She kissed him warmly on the cheek.

“We were beginning to think we would never see you again,” Tyene said.

Prince Oberyn rolled his eyes.

“Myrcella,” Obella called, “look, my father is home!”

Myrcella Baratheon appeared, as ever with her little train of cousin, septa, and white knight. She approached the prince cautiously, as though he were an unpredictable horse, but Arianne knew her well enough to know that she would never shirk from being courteous just because it scared her.

“Good morning, Prince Oberyn,” she said. She held her hands folded in front of her as though she were carrying an invisible shield.

“Good morning,” the prince said with a smile and a perfectly friendly tone. So friendly, in fact, that Arianne thought she may have to forgive him after all. “Did you make it to the top of the Spear Tower as well?”

Myrcella nodded, “Well, all of us but Septa Eglantine,” she said. “She would have made it but she was still climbing when we saw you and came running down again.”

The septa was red-faced and sweating, but as uncomplaining as she ever was. Arianne knew she would follow Myrcella up a mountain if she needed to. “Sit down,” she told the woman quietly. Arianne poured her some iced water and she took it gratefully, setting her ample frame down on one of the chairs and clutching a cramp in her side.

Arys Oakheart sat down as well, as far away from Arianne as the table would allow. If he thought that would fool her uncle, he was quite mistaken, because Prince Oberyn immediately raised his eyebrows. She shook her head at him. The last thing she wanted was one of her uncle’s jokes. That might scare the knight off forever.

Thankfully the prince showed no more interest in the matter. “What else have you been doing?” he asked his daughter.

“We went to the Spice Market yesterday,” Obella said. “Rosamund got lost.”

“I wasn’t lost,” Rosamund Lannister objected, “I was only exploring.”

“And then Myrcella put a whole dragon pepper in her mouth.”

“I only did it because Trystane told me to,” Myrcella said, blushing. “He said I wouldn’t be able to chew it, but I did.”

“Did you?” Prince Oberyn asked, amused.

Mycella nodded, “It wasn’t so bad,” she said, “but I did get a sunburn, on the top of my shoulders.”

“I can see that.”

“That hurts a lot more than eating the pepper did.”

“Father,” Obella said, “I want to show Rosamund and Myrcella those caves we went to last year with those stalagites.”

“Stalagmites, my love.”

“Yes,” said Obella, rolling her eyes, “can we go?”

“Maybe,” her father said, “but I don’t know if I’ll have any time to spare before I have to leave. Your cousin might take you, if you ask her nicely enough.”

“Are you leaving again?” Tyene asked.

Prince Oberyn seemed surprised by the question. “I’m going to King’s Landing.”

“What,” said Arianne. “What do you mean you’re going to King’s Landing?”

He stared at her, “For the wedding,” he said, “and to fill the seat on the Small Council.”

“You? On the Small Council.”

“Yes,” her uncle said. “You’re acting as though this is the first you’ve heard of this.”

“This is the first I’ve heard of this.”

He looked from her to Tyene incredulously. Tyene shrugged uncomfortably.

Arianne looked away from him and at the book in her hand. She was gripping it so tightly that her hands were beginning to feel numb. “When are you going on this grand adventure?”

“In a little less than a fortnight.”

“I see,” she said. “Who are you taking with you?”

“Lord Uller, Lady Blackmont, Ryon Allyrion, a few others.”

She wanted to throw her book in his face and scream. Instead, she got up off her seat. “I’m sorry, Obella,” Arianne said, “I don’t think I’ll have time to take you anywhere, either. No doubt your father will want a proper send off.”

“Little princess, please don’t be angry...”

“Why should I be angry?” she said. She couldn’t quite keep her voice from shaking. “I’m a little surprised, I grant you. I didn’t think you’d been quite so eager to go suck Tywin Lannister’s cock yourself, but it makes no matter.”

Myrcella giggled quietly behind her hand and Septa Eglantine looked at Arianne with shock. She would have been ashamed if she could think straight enough to be.

“You should have been told,” Prince Oberyn said quietly.

Arianne still didn’t trust herself to look at him, “I understand,” she said, “you were far too occupied. Talking. And sending ravens to Blackmont.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” she asked. “I’m sorry, Uncle, I have to go. I’ve suddenly found myself with quite a lot to do.” She left them all sitting there while she walked away on trembling legs. Tyene came running after her, but Arianne couldn’t look at her either.

“Do you want me to find Ricasso?” Tyene asked her when they reached the Tower of the Sun.

 _He probably already knows_. “Yes,” she smiled at Tyene, “and you may as well find Arryk Hull. Even if we send out the hunters now, they’ll have to have very good luck.”

Tyene shrugged. “Then we’ll serve something other than gazelle.”

“It’s my uncle’s favourite,” she said distractedly. “I can’t have him going off to King’s Landing for the gods only know how long and not serve gazelle.”

“I doubt he’ll notice if it’s not there,” Tyene said. “And even if he does, he won’t complain. He’s quite frightened of you when you get angry.”

“I’m not angry!” Arianne screamed.

In the end, the huntsmen did get their gazelle, more than enough, and with a day to spare. Arianne was darting from one floor to another inspecting guest chambers when Tyene found her in a staircase.

“You’ll never guess who turned up,” she said. Garin appeared behind her wearing a bright blue tunic and a self-conscious grin.

“I see you’ve come just in time for the festivities,” Arianne said knowingly.

“Are there going to be festivities?” he laughed.

“Never mind,” Arianne said, “I’m glad you’re here.” She embraced him warmly and held it for a long moment, “I feel like I haven’t seen you in an age.”

“You haven’t,” he said. “You’ve been staying home so much you may as well be a septa.”

Arianne laughed, “I know a septa who would disagree with you. I’ve managed quite well. Come on, I’m nearly finished.” She lead him up to her solar.

“Where did Tyene go?”

“She has a thousand things to do,” Arianne said genially. “We’re all rather busy here this morning, you may have noticed.”

“Aren’t you busy then?”

“Not too busy for you,” she told him, “how is your mother?”

“She’s very well,” Garin said. He poured himself some wine and sat on the settee by the window, “she’s missed you, too.”

“Have you come to chide me for being a neglectful friend?” Arianne asked guiltily. Garin had never been neglectful, and neither had his mother. Long after she had been the princess’s wet nurse she had loved her as though she were her own daughter. When she was twelve Arianne and Garin had journeyed on his mother’s poleboat from the Planky Town to Godsgrace. She had cooked fish over a brazier and swam naked in the river, and when she misbehaved his mother struck her on the hand with a wooden spoon and sent her to bed without supper. Arianne missed her.

“I would never do that, princess,” Garin said, “I only came to see you. And to see Prince Oberyn. I still can’t imagine why he would want to go to King’s Landing.”

“For the king’s wedding.”

“That doesn’t seem like a good enough reason to me,” Garin said. He smiled widely enough to show off his golden tooth, “Even the whores have sour faces in King’s Landing.”

Arianne laughed, “My uncle will give them a reason to smile.” She joined her friend on the settee.

“I was half afraid the rumours were wrong and you’d be the one who was going.”

“No, how can I leave Dorne?” Arianne said sarcastically, “I’m indispensable here.”

“It wouldn’t shock me at all,” he said, oblivious. “Your family has been showing up in surprising places lately.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, I saw your brother in the Planky Town last week,” Garin said. “Well, I didn’t, my cousin Marence did.”

“Your cousin Marence is an idiot,” she said dismissively, “Trys couldn’t have been in the Planky Town last week. It’s impossible.” She tried hard not to think about what her uncle had said about him.

Garin laughed into his goblet, “No, your other brother,” he said.

By the time he was finished with his story, she’d have prefered to hear about Trystane sneaking off to go whoring.

Garin went off to find someone who was better company and Arianne managed to make it to her bedchamber before being violently sick down the privy shaft. Tyene told her she looked pale and that she was a fool for going to the feast instead of staying in bed, but Arianne dragged herself to her dressing room. Petra dressed her and she sat while the maid arranged her hair, but she was barely aware of her.

 _It could be innocent_ , she told herself, _there’s no reason to think it’s anything but innocent. I’m being stupid. Silly_. But she had lied to herself for so long, it didn’t fool her anymore. If it were so innocent, why would he be travelling with a strongbox full of letters with their father’s seal on them.

_If it’s so innocent, why wouldn’t he have told me?_

“Are you even listening to me?” Tyene asked.

“What?” said Arianne, “of course I am.” She took her ruby earrings from Petra. “Go on, I’ll manage myself.” Her hands shook as she was putting them on, and Tyene didn’t fail to notice.

“Arianne, you’re ill,” she said in frustration. “You should be in bed.”

“No,” she said, “there’s nothing wrong with me, I’m just a little tired.”

“Then you should rest.” She sat down next to Arianne on the bench in front of the dressing table. They looked at each other in the silvered looking glass. “What happened to you today?”

For a wild moment, Arianne almost considered telling her, “Nothing,” she said. “Really Tyene, I don’t understand why you’re pressing me like this, you know I have to go.”

There was a knock on the door and her uncle came into the room looking as annoyingly solicitous as Tyene.

“I heard you were ill,” he said.

“No,” Tyene said immediately, “she’s perfectly fine.”

“Good,” he said, “may I speak to you?”

Arianne nodded. Prince Oberyn walked into the room and gave Tyene a significant look. She frowned, but got up and left all the same.

“We seem to be doing nothing but arguing lately,” he said when they were alone. “I don’t want us to part on bad terms.”

“We’re not on bad terms.”

“You’ve hardly said two words to me in two weeks.”

“I’ve hardly said two words to anyone,” she protested. “I’ve been rather preoccupied. And so have you.”

Her uncle scoffed, “Why do you insist on pretending that nothing is bothering you? I’m beginning to find it tiresome.”

She turned in her seat to look at him. “I’m not pretending,” she said. “I don’t have any reason to be angry with you.”

He sighed and sat down next to her with his legs on the opposite side of the seat from hers. “Yes, I know who you’re angry with.”

“I’m not-”

“Just stop, please,” he said. “I didn’t come here to pick another fight with you, I came to ask you something.”

Prince Oberyn seemed more serious than she had seen him in a long time. There was a determined set to his face that made her nervous. “You can ask me anything,” she said.

He didn’t look at her, but started at the back wall of her dressing room instead. “Will you take care of my children?”

Arianne was suddenly terrified. “Don’t I always?” she said, as casually as she could. “I have little enough else to do, most of the time.”

“And you’re angry about that as well,” he stated.

“Please, stop telling me what I’m angry about.”

“I don’t blame you,” he said. He seemed to hesitate, “but maybe things will start to change, if you give them a chance.”

Arianne looked at him sharply. “What things? Why would they change now?” she asked. He looked away, and didn’t say anything; she hadn’t expected him to. “You said yourself that my father never changes.”

“I did say that,” he agreed, “but the world changes. Sometimes even for the better.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about change.” He smiled strangely. “Or maybe I’m warning you.”

Her stomach was full of lead. “Warning me?”

“Yes,” he said, “I think the subject of your marriage will come up again, and soon. You won’t be able to put it off forever.”

“I never wanted to put it off,” she said. “If it were my choice, I would have wed a long time ago.”

“So you insist,” her uncle said, “though most would say you hardly act like a woman eager to wed.”

“And what do you say?”

“I say, what you really want is something you could easily have, if only you could swallow your pride long enough.”

Arianne couldn’t summon the energy to be annoyed with him. “What does my pride have to do with it?” she asked resignedly. “I have to marry and I can’t marry him. Surely the world hasn’t changed that much.”

“No,” he agreed.

“I thought Daemon was your friend,” she continued. “Why would you wish something on either of us that can’t last?”

“You’re not wed yet,” he said, “you could still be happy for a while.”

“Happy?” That did anger her. “Do you think all I need is the right man in my bed, and that will make me happy?” Was that was he was hoping?

“Why not?” Prince Oberyn smiled and shrugged. “It’s what made me happy.”

Arianne shook her head. “You and I are nothing alike.”

He laughed. “No, not one bit,” he said. “In your place, I never would have given him up at all.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Of course you had a choice,” he insisted, “although the fact that you think you didn’t rather illustrates my point.” She was silent. “But I was a little shit when I was fourteen. You were never quite so selfish, or uncontrollable.”

“Uncontrollable?” she asked.

“Yes,” her uncle said, “perhaps I still am.”

“No,” Arianne said, “my father can always control you, it seems. I wish I knew how.”

Prince Oberyn laughed quietly, “There’s no great secret to it, I’m afraid,” he said. “He’s my elder brother, and my prince.”

She nodded. “Maybe you’re not as undutiful as you say you are,” she told him. “You’ve always been dutiful enough to be silent when needed. And silence has never been in your nature. Neither has causing me pain.”

“Have I caused you pain, Arianne?”

She shook her head. “I don’t blame you.”

“No, that’s not your way,” he said. “But you shouldn’t be so hard on your father either, you didn’t always make it easy for him.”

The truth of that cut Arianne to the quick. “I know.”

“And I suppose he hasn’t always made it easy for you,” her uncle continued, “but I have to give him this credit: he’s always done what he thought was best.”

She closed her eyes, afraid that if she opened them, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from crying. I should be angry, she thought. But there was too much despair for anger. “And this is what he thinks is best?” she asked in a thin girlish voice. “Was I really such a trial to him that this is what he thinks I deserve?”

“Oh, little princess,” he stroked her hair and kissed her on the brow. “You don’t deserve this.”

She knew the words should give her comfort, but they didn’t change anything. Prince Oberyn would never oppose his brother. And she would never ask him to.

“Please,” he said after a moment of silence, “I need to know that you’ll take care of my daughters.”

She finally managed to look him in the face. “Yes,” she said, “you don’t even have to ask. I would die for any one of them, I just,” she shook her head and sighed, “I don’t know how you think I could ever be of use to them.”

“Now you’re just indulging in self-pity,” her uncle said. “Things will change. They must.”

“So you say, but I don’t see how. Not for the better, not for me.”

“Perhaps you should consider that maybe they won’t change by themselves,” he said, “you have to make them change.”

“I’ve tried,” she said. “You’re right, I could have been happy. But I gave it up. I broke both our hearts. I did it for him.”

“I know.”

“I thought it would fix it, but I was a stupid little girl; it made no difference at all,” Arianne, said. “Nothing does. When I act like a spoiled child and go out of my way to hurt him, he doesn’t say anything. And when I try to be what he wants me to be, it doesn’t gain me anything.”

“Saying what he feels has never been your father’s first instinct,” Prince Oberyn whispered.

Arianne felt like she had been waiting her whole life to speak. “I’ve always done what he’s asked. I haven’t always done it with a good grace, but I’ve done it. I would have married Ben Beesbury if I thought that’s what he really wanted.”

He nodded, “I believe you.”

“For two years now, I’ve sat here in Sunspear,” she said. “He ran away to the Water Gardens to hide from me, don’t bother to deny that. Even when I do see him he can barely stand to look at me.” Prince Oberyn said nothing. “I spend all my time concerning myself with what to serve at table, and making pleasing noises at his bannermen. When they criticize him, I defend him, when they speak to me like I could actually do something for them, I just smile and ply them with wine, and pray to all the gods they don’t notice that I’m kept as ignorant as I was before I had hair on my cunt.”

Her uncle didn’t deny it. He loved her enough for that, at least.

“Even when he said, ‘here, take this child and look after it until I’m ready to use her for my own purpose’ I did it. And even you questioned my good sense then. I don’t understand; what does he want from me?”

Prince Oberyn regarded her for a moment. “Why are you asking me these things?” he said finally. “You could get on a horse and go to the Water Gardens this very moment.”

She stared at him.

“Go,” he said. “I’ll make your excuses for you. You can be back before the dancing starts.”

“No,” she said.

“No?” he repeated. “Is that all you have to say?”

“He doesn’t want me there,” Arianne said.

“Is that what you think?” He shook his head. “Since when has anything like that stopped you?” He stood up from the seat and looked down on her. “You’re angry with him, you have every right to be angry with him. Go tell him so.”

Arianne couldn’t look at him, so she looked at her dressing table instead. At the discarded jewels and half empty bottles of scent. “I couldn’t,” she said. “You make it sound so easy.” It was bad enough to know the truth, to hear her father say it might be more than she could bear.

“So what,” he said, “are you content to just sit there, and keep smiling? The only thing that will gain you is regret.”

“What choice do I have?”

“Other than doing nothing, you mean?” he asked with something close to mockery in his voice, “you could always do something, have you considered that?”

“Is that what you think I should do? Something.”

“Of course it is,” he said, “and soon. You never know how much time the gods will give you.”

Arianne thought she might be sick again. “I couldn’t.” _He’s the Prince of Dorne, what hope would I have_? “What would be the point?”

Prince Oberyn turned away from her, “I’ve often asked myself that,” he said angrily. “I’ve lost count of the words I’ve wasted trying to make peace between you.”

“I never wanted to be at war with him!” she said, finally finding the anger she had been in search of for hours. For years.

“You have a strange way of showing it,” he said. “As far as I can see you take some perverse pleasure out of being miserable.”

“What do you know about it? You’re the one he trusts, and values.”You’re the one he’s sending to King’s Landing.” Even as she said it she knew how petty it sounded. “I can only imagine what mad folly you intend, that even you think you may not return, but apparently it’s far better than running the risk of me bungling it!”

“Stop it!” he commanded. “I won’t hear any more of this. I thought you were above feeling sorry for yourself and whining like a child. If you think you have something to prove, then prove it. Or don’t. Stay with your head up your own ass and hope that the gods love you so well they’ll just arrange the world to your liking. I certainly don’t intend to wait a moment longer.”

He stalked towards the door and pulled it open with enough force to loosen the hinges. In the last moment he turned around to face her again. She saw the disappointment in his face. “Good bye, Arianne,” he said.

And then he left. And slammed the door behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting through one more feast shouldn't be hard for Eglantine...or Arianne.

There was an air of melancholy in the Feast Hall. It was only to be expected at a feast of farewell, Eglantine supposed, but the mood on the dais was gloomier than she’d ever felt in Sunspear.

Princess Arianne wasn’t speaking to anyone. She was courteous and smiling, but her eyes looked tired. She been working so hard lately, and Eglantine would like to imagine that’s all it was, but somehow she didn’t think so. Her plate was untouched, but her goblet was empty. Prince Oberyn was a good deal worse. He kept glancing at his niece with disapproval and didn’t even bother with a smile. Lady Ellaria had given up on speaking to either of them, and the other lords at the high table were entirely governed by the tone they set.

Only the children didn’t seem to notice the heavy atmosphere. Myrcella and Prince Trystane were sitting together and Rosamund and Obella giggled beside them. A singer was singing a long, sad song about a dying knight when Obella whispered something in Myrcella’s ear that caused her to laugh out loud. Eglantine shushed them but it made no difference; they whispered and laughed when they were supposed to be silent. And everyone else was silent when they were supposed to be laughing.

Below the dais, the knights and minor lordlings didn’t seem to notice either. They made a fearsome din and the food and wine were plentiful. The centrepiece of the feast was half a dozen wild desert gazelle, served so rare they were swimming in their own blood. Prince Trystane ate it with eager relish and Myrcella seemed determined to like it too, just as she was determined to like the stew made of flaky white fish and dragon pepper that Princess Arianne managed a few bites of, though it was so hot it made sweat drip down Eglantine’s forehead.

The sweet was honey cakes covered in candied orange peel and for ten minutes after it was cleared away, the only noise on the dais was girlish laughter.

“Arianne, when is the dancing going to start?” Prince Trystane asked.

“Now, if you’d like,” she said. And when Princess Arianne decreed that the dancing should begin, it did.

Prince Oberyn and Ellaria Sand lead the way and the high table slowly emptied as everyone else followed their example. Princess Arianne refused a dozen offers to dance with a smile and a short excuse before Lady Tyene touched her on the arm.

“Haven’t you had enough to drink?” she asked her.

“No,” the princess said simply.

Ser Deziel Dalt came to ask for a dance, but before he had even opened his mouth Lady Tyene cut across him, “You’re wasting your time, ser,” she said. “If you want to dance it must be with me.”

That seemed to please him well enough, so she took his hand and they went off together while the princess watched them impassively.

After a dance or three a tall, dignified woman wearing black and pink came to sit in Lady Tyene’s place beside the princess. Lady Blackmont, Eglantine named her. She looked at Princess Arianne in concern. “Are you quite alright?” she asked her. “You don’t seem yourself.”

Princess Arianne drained her goblet. When she looked up at Lady Blackmont she was smiling almost believably. “I’m only tired,” she said, “I didn’t mean to ruin everyone’s evening.”

“Of course you haven’t,” the older woman said, “it’s been splendid, as ever.”

“Yes, everything is splendid,” she spat. “Splendid food, splendid music, splendid princess.”

Lady Blackmont didn’t look like she knew what to say. “Indeed,” she said finally, “and far more pleasant than anything we’re like to find in King’s Landing. I remember everyone being far more grave there.”

Eglantine had to agree. Myrcella had never laughed at a feast in King’s Landing.

“I hadn’t realized you’d ever been there before, my lady.”

“Only once,” Lady Blackmont said, “when Princess Elia was wed. The marriage feast was almost as uncomfortable as the marriage.”

“Is that really true,” Princess Arianne asked earnestly, “or do people only say that now that they know how it all turned out?”

“Maybe you’re right,” she said. “We were all hopeful at least. But that hope came to nothing, so I suppose it poisoned everything that came before it. Are you sure you’re well, my princess?”

“Yes,” she insisted, “why wouldn’t I be?” When she stood up she was surprisingly steady, “Maybe I will dance.” The crowd of people on the floor parted for her as she passed but she made no move to actually join the dancers. She sat down on the bench in front of the window, where her cousin joined her moments later. In another moment she was surrounded by people.

Lady Blackmont left as well and Eglantine found herself alone on the dais. She searched the room and found Myrcella in the middle of a large clump of children, smiling shyly and sticking close to Prince Trystane. Ser Arys Oakheart was standing at a pillar nearby, as reassuring as the Mother’s mercy.

Myrcella met the septa’s eyes with a panicked look on her face and Eglantine felt compelled to go to her. They met at the bottom of the stairs to the dais.

“Come and sit down, my love,” she told her.

They sat on a pair of chairs at the end of the high table while Myrcella drank a goblet of well watered wine.

“I’m sorry, septa,” she said. “Everyone was trying to talk to me all at once.”

“You’ll have to get used to that,” Eglantine told her as kindly as she could. “Being a great lady means that there will always be people who want your attention.”

“Yes, septa, I know,” she said. “I’ll go back.”

Eglantine smiled at her. “Take a rest first, child.” They sat together quietly for a while. Myrcella watched pensively as Prince Trystane danced with Rosamund, then with his cousin Elia Sand.

“Septa,” she asked, “do you like Trystane?”

The septa looked at her sharply, “Myrcella...” she began.

“I know you’re supposed to say that you do,” the princess cut in, “but you can tell the truth just this one, I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

The girl looked so expectant that Eglantine couldn’t bring herself to chastise her like she knew she should. “I believe I do like him,” she said. “He’s very gentle and sweet. He will make a good husband, I think.”

Myrcella nodded gravely, “Being married to him won’t be so bad,” she said.

Eglantine sighed with sympathy, “Child, why do you imagine it would be bad at all? Surely you like him.” Myrcella didn’t say anything, she just kept watching the prince dance. “You always seem so happy when the two of you are together.”

“I am happy when I’m with him,” she agreed, “but...” she trailed off.

“Prince Trystane is very fond of you, Myrcella,” the septa told her.

The girl look at her hopefully, “Is he?”

“My love,” said Eglantine, “please tell me what’s troubling you. He’s been showering you with attention all evening.”

“I know,” she said, “but Obella said...”

Eglantine groaned inwardly. Obella Sand was the least objectionable of Prince Oberyn’s daughters. She wasn’t as aggressive as Elia, or as peevish as Dorea, but sometimes she said things that the septa never imagined she’d hear an eleven year old girl say.

“Yes,” she prompted, “what did Obella tell you?”

“She said that he and her sister Elia are always by themselves together, and that they kiss, and things.”

The septa groaned again, but she had no trouble believing it. It explained a great deal, in fact. The cousins were still dancing together, even though a new song had started. They laughed and held hands longer than they needed to. “Sweetling,” she said, “don’t take it so much to heart.”

Myrcella was wearing a scowl that Eglantine had never seen on her face before, “I thought I pleased him and he liked me,” she said angrily.

“You have pleased him,” Eglantine told her. “You’ve been gracious and courteous and you’ve pleased everyone.” She stroked her hair gently, “I’m very proud of how you’ve behaved since you’ve come to Sunspear. And your lady mother would be proud as well.” That was a lie; her lady mother would be scandalized, but it was what the child needed to hear.

“Why would he like her at all?” Myrcella asked, not listening. “She’s only a bastard, and she’s not even nice like Obella or Lady Tyene are.”

“My love,” the septa told her gently, “boys are not like girls.”

“I know,” Myrcella said. “Men have needs.”

Eglantine started at those words, “Did Obella tell you that?” she asked.

“No,” Myrcella said with a shrug. “That’s just something people say, isn’t it? Men have needs and that’s why there are bastards. I guess Trystane will have bastards too.”

Eglantine didn’t know what to say. “Myrcella,” she tried, “once you and Prince Trystane are wed you will never have to give any thought to such things. What a man always wants and needs most is trueborn sons. And only you will be able to give him that.”

“And daughters too,” Myrcella said stoutly.

Eglantine sighed and admitted it was so. _But not only daughters_ , Eglantine thought, _may the gods protect her, no man can love his wife for that_. There had been no love left in her father. She had been Myrcella’s age, or a little younger, when her father brought a squalling infant from the village to their tower house and screamed at her mother that it proved it wasn’t his fault.

“But what if he loves her and not me?” Myrcella said, “I would kiss him too, if he asked me…”

“No, you wouldn’t,” the septa said before Myrcella could say another word. “If you did you would be no better than Lady Elia, surely you understand that.”

“I suppose so,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind so much, but I don’t like her. Why does he?”

Eglantine smiled and shook her head, “Boys might kiss girls like that, but they don’t really like them. And they certainly don’t love them.”

“Prince Oberyn loves her mother,” Myrcella argued.

“When you love someone, you love their honour as much as your own,” Eglantine told her. “If he truly loved her he would have wed her.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I do,” she said. “Myrcella, listen to me very carefully,” she continued. “The greatest courage a woman can show is to always be good and virtuous even when those around her fail in their duty. Women like that are revered in memory as much as the greatest warriors and wisest kings.”

“My mother is like that,” Myrcella said thoughtfully.

“She is,” Eglantine agreed.

“I want to be a great lady like her.”

“I know you do, my love,” said Eglantine. “And I know you will be. On the morrow, we’ll read about Queen Naerys; she is beloved of the Faith.” Myrcella nodded, still looking dejected. “Please, child,” the septa said, “try to put this from your mind until then and enjoy yourself for the evening. Try to be cheerful, like Princess Arianne.”

The princess did indeed look cheerful. Eglantine never could have guessed how subdued she had been just half an hour before. She was still sitting by the window with an endless stream of lords and ladies approaching her, and she seemed to have a smile for all of them.

“Do you think Princess Arianne would mind if I go to sit with her?” Myrcella asked Eglantine.

“No,” she replied, “I’m sure that would make her quite happy.”

Myrcella smiled and ran to the princess excitedly. Eglantine followed at a more dignified pace. When she got there the Dornish princess was still in conversation with a gaggle of knights and ladies, and her own princess’s attention was fixed on an impressive looking older man with silver hair. He was one of the lords who had sat on the dais, but Eglantine couldn’t put a name to him. Six-year-old Loreza Sand was sitting on his lap.

“It’s not fair,” the child was telling him, “you’re all leaving. Mother, and Father, and even you. Why do you all have to go?”

“I won’t be gone for very long,” the man told her, “and you have your sisters to keep you company.”

“My sisters should all go and you should stay!” she said. “Especially Dorea.”

“You don’t mean that,” he said with a chuckle.

“Yes, I do,” Loreza said petulantly. “She’s dreadful. She hit me with her morning star and now I have a big bruise on my back, and she lets her puppy sleep in our bed even though Mother said she wasn’t allowed and he always pisses on my pillow in the morning. She makes him do it on purpose.” Myrcella giggled. “It’s not funny!” the little girl said, “and she always takes all the blankets.”

“Rosamund does that too,” Myrcella said sagely. “But it’s not on purpose, she just rolls over in her sleep. She can’t help it.”

“Dorea can help it.”

“I think you’re being mean,” Myrcella said. “She’s always playing with you.”

“Only when she has to,” the child said. “She always laughs at me,” she told the lord. “I tripped over the hem of my gown when we had our dancing lesson and she laughed at me, right in front of everyone.”

“You were laughing too,” Myrcella pointed out.

Loreza crossed her arms and pouted. “Can’t you at least take her with you, Grandfather?” she said. “And El too. She calls me a baby and pushes me. We went to the kitchen to get some cakes and the cook caught us, and then she told Arianne it was all my idea, but it wasn’t.”

“I’m not sure if King’s Landing is quite prepared for either of them,” he said. “But I can take Obella, if you’d like.”

“No!” Myrcella and Loreza said together.

The lord laughed, “Well, I suppose I’ll have to content myself with your mother and father.” The girl just pouted. Eglantine couldn’t help but smile at her.

There was a flurry of childish noise as the other children came over, talking and laughing. Rosamund sat on the bench next to Myrcella and Obella squeezed in beside her after giving her grandfather a kiss on the cheek.

Harmen Uller, Eglantine finally remembered, the Lord of Hellholt. He was a great lord in Dorne. The septa had never given any thought to who Ellaria Sand’s parents might be.

Prince Trystane stood in front of Myrcella with a huge smile on his face. “Come and dance again, Myrcella,” he said.

A crease appeared between Myrcella’s eyebrows, “I don’t want to dance with you,” she said, far too bluntly. Eglantine frowned at her, and she blushed.

The young prince seemed crushed, “Why not?”

“I’m tired,” she said shortly.

Elia Sand was standing next to her cousin smirking. “Never mind, Trys,” she said. “You can dance with me again.”

He looked uncomfortable, “No, I think I’m tired too.”

“No you’re not,” she said. She leaned into Prince Trystane’s ear and whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Don’t let her spoil our fun.”

Myrcella turned Lannister crimson. Princess Arianne turned away from her conversation and gave Elia a warning look that Eglantine was sure would make most men cower, but the girl was unperturbed.

“You won’t dance with him, but you still expect him to wait around for you, is that it?”

“You’re horrible,” Myrcella said. “Why can’t you just leave us alone?”

“You’re just a stupid little girl,” Elia Sand said. “Why can’t you just go back to where you came from?”

“Elia,” Princess Arianne said in a quiet voice. They all turned to look at her. The entire group around the princess was watching the scene with obvious discomfort. “Go to bed.”

The girl was shocked, “You can’t mean it.” Princess Arianne’s expression made it quite clear that she did. “Why would you take her side?”

“I would do as the princess says if I were you, my love,” Lord Uller said.

Elia looked at her cousin, but Prince Trystane was almost as red as Myrcella and not looking at her. For a moment, Eglantine thought she might weep, but she only scowled even deeper.

“I can see she gets there, my princess,” Lady Wade offered after a few, very long seconds.

“Yes, thank you.”

When they were gone, Prince Trystane looked at Myrcella anxiously, “She shouldn’t have said that,” he told her. Myrcella wouldn’t meet his eye.

“Trys,” Princess Arianne said, “go find someone else to dance with.”

“But I want to dance with Myrcella,” he said, drawing himself up to his full height.

“She said she was tired.”

He gave her a scowl remarkably similar to his cousin’s, but left without another word.

Princess Arianne turned to Myrcella. “Are you going to tell me what that was about?” Myrcella hugged herself with her arms and shook her head. Eglantine supposed she would have to tell her, about Lady Elia and her brother, and everything. But not tonight. “We’ll talk about it later,” the princess said, not unkindly. She sighed and stood up to walk away. The lordling, knights, and ladies trailed after her like ducklings.

Eglantine came to take her place on the bench. Myrcella leaned her head against the septa’s fleshy arm.

“Myrcella,” Loreza said from Lord Uller’s lap, “are you going away too?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Obella said. “She’s only just got here.”

“I’ve heard enough of that word already, child,” Eglantine said.

“I’m sorry, septa,” she said. “But I wish I could go to King’s Landing.”

“No, you don’t.” Myrcella said. “I like it much better here.”

“Septa,” Rosamund said, “can Obella still sleep in our bed with us tonight?”

“I suppose so,” Eglantine said. The girls wouldn’t get much sleep; they would whisper and giggle all night, but she had promised them and tonight was as good a night as any. “But Obella will have to rise early to see her father off.”

“We’re all going to rise early for that, aren’t we?” Myrcella asked.

“Yes, if you wish.”

Rosamund and Obella giggled happily and even Myrcella looked pleased.

“Oh, do we have to sit here?” Obella asked, “I want to dance!”

“We’re resting,” Myrcella said.

“You’re always resting,” Obella said, rolling her eyes. “You wouldn’t get tired so quickly if you took more exercise, that’s what Arianne says.”

“Does she?” Myrcella’s forehead wrinkled. “Well, all right, but I don’t want to be anywhere near Trystane.”

“Myrcella, my love, don’t be petty,” Eglantine started to say, but the girls didn’t hear her over their giggling and rush to get away.

“It looks like Obella’s made herself a couple of new friends,” Lord Uller said to Loreza.

“They’re always going somewhere and they never let me come,” she complained.

Lord Uller shook his head in exasperation, “Yes, everyone is against you, Loreza.”

The next disturbance was ten minutes later when Ellaria Sand glided over and tutted at her daughter. “Loree, what are you doing,” she said. “Get off your grandfather’s lap at once.”

“No, I don’t mind,” Lord Uller said, as the child clung fiercely to the fabric of his tunic.

“I’m sure you don’t,” the girl’s mother said. “But she’s nearly seven, she can’t keep sitting on everyone’s lap all the time. It’s getting ridiculous.”

“Nearly seven is still little,”  he said. “She can stay for a little while longer.”

Lady Ellaria ignored him, “Loreza,” she said, “sit down on the bench properly.”

“But Grandfather said...”

“I don’t care what Grandfather said,” she cut her off, “at once.” Loreza pouted, but she obeyed. Her mother sat between her and Lord Uller and smoothed the girl’s skirts for her. “There,” she said, “now you almost look like a proper lady.”

She looked over at Eglantine and smiled, “Good evening, septa.”

“Good evening, my lady.” She was getting used to calling her that.

They both watched the girls dancing. Myrcella was looking like herself again. She twirled around with Obella while Rosamund looked on and laughed.

“Do you know where Elia is?”

It took a moment for Eglantine to realize that Ellaria Sand was addressing her. “Yes,” she said hesitantly, “Princess Arianne sent her to bed.”

“Did she?” The lady didn’t really sound surprised. “Well, I’m sure she deserved it.”

“Yes, I’m afraid she rather did,” the septa said. The lady looked embarrassed. “All girls are difficult at that age,” Eglantine told her.

“Are they?” Ellaria Sand asked her earnestly.

“Yes,” she said. “Each in her own way.”

“Thank you, septa, that’s...” she smiled, “that’s a great comfort.”

Eglantine smiled back. She was a good woman, and a good mother. It was really all such a shame.

Loreza was starting to absentmindedly cling to her mother’s arm. She tutted at her again. “For goodness sake child, you’re like a bloodsucking leech.”

“You’ll be sorry,” Lord Uller said, “when she’s grown and she thinks she knows better than you about everything.”

“When she does, I hope I have the grace to listen to her.”

“I doubt it,” he said, “but you’ll be praying for a bloodsucking leech then.”

“Father...” she said fondly.

He chuckled and put his arm around her and drew her towards him so her face was resting against his chest. He kissed her on the brow affectionately.

Eglantine watched them and felt her breath starting to become ragged. She needed to get away from them, though she couldn’t say why. She got up and fled, not even bothering to excuse herself. She moved towards where the children were dancing but she didn’t really see them; she stood against a pillar and prayed until she stopped hearing her heart beating in her ears. She wiped the sweat from her palms on her skirts and made herself look about her.

Princess Arianne was standing nearby, listening to yet another lord with yet another smile fixed on her face.

“...but the girl,” the lord was saying.

“Which girl do you mean, my lord?”

He seemed confused, “The Lannister girl.”

“Princess Myrcella?” she asked in a pleasant voice.

“Yes,” the lord said, “Princess Myrcella. Surely Prince Doran doesn’t intend to actually go through with this betrothal.”

All the people around them were beginning to attend to the conversation. Prince Oberyn was watching his niece with the same disapproving look he wore on the dais. His daughter, Tyene, was watching him with an identical expression.

“I don’t think the prince is in the habit of making agreements he intends to break, Lord Gargalen,” the princess said.

Ellaria Sand had appeared with her father. She went to Prince Oberyn’s side and slid her arm through his, but Lord Uller went straight to the princess.

“Breaking the agreement is not the issue,” he told her. "Making the agreements in the first place is." Her smile seemed to make the man oblivious to how angry he was making her. And Eglantine could hardly blame her; it was a matter for the audience chamber, not the Feast Hall. “And what those agreements might commit us to.”

“No one likes the idea of fighting for the Lannisters in this war,” Lord Gargalen added, “no matter who it’s against.”

“The war is all but over,” Princess Arianne said.

“Is it?” Lord Uller asked.

“If the war is all but over, why is my strength still marshalled in the Prince’s Pass?” Lord Gargalen asked.

“It’s a very strange thing to assemble an army and not use it,” said Lord Uller.

“Two armies,” Lord Gargalen corrected. “And I quite agree, it’s very strange.”

Princess Arianne smiled at Lord Uller in a way that made Eglantine feel sorry for the man, “I think this is the first time you and Lord Gargalen have ever agreed about anything.”

“Are we wrong to agree?” When the princess said nothing he glanced at Prince Oberyn, but his face betrayed as little as hers. “I’m of half a mind to start bringing my men home.”

“Are you?” Princess Arianne asked softly. Even the smile was gone, and all that was left was a face that didn’t allow argument. Lord Gargalen flinched at the sight of it. Determined, commanding. _And cold_ , Eglantine thought. _Cold to the very soul._

Lord Uller must have seen what the septa did, “No,” he said in a voice that was just above a whisper, “not truly.” The princess’s smile reappeared. “But it doesn’t make it any less strange,” he continued, “armies are meant to be used.”

Her smile was almost warm then, but there was a strange, sad look in her eye. “Yes, so they are,” she said. “But armies can be used in more than one way.”

Lord Uller returned her smile, “So they can, my princess.”  He bowed and left her. Lord Gargalen followed after him. Prince Oberyn, however, smiled at Princess Arianne with a contemptuously.

“Is there something you want to say?” she spat out without looking at him.

“What could I possibly say,” he said. “That was very impressive. You didn’t even have to ply him with wine.”

She looked at him, then seemed to crumple like foil in a mailed fist. For a moment, she was like a child lost in a wood, but in another moment she was carved of stone. “Excuse me,” she said, and she walked away, leaving Eglantine staring wonderingly after her.

Tyene Sand was just as bewildered. “What did you say to her?” she asked her father.

“You heard what I said to her,” he told her, completely unrepentant. His daughter didn’t bother to respond, she ran after the princess like she always did. Ellaria Sand shook her head at him. “Chide me if you like,” he told her.

“What could I possibly say?”

The septa turned away from the conversation and scanned the hall for Myrcella. She found her back by the bench in front of the window with only Rosamund and Obella. As she approached, Obella yawned extravagantly.

“It’s time for bed, girls,” she told them.

“Oh, can’t we stay a little longer?” Rosamund asked. “Please, septa.”

“Myrcella is finally starting to have fun,” Obella said.

Myrcella did look happy, and exhausted. “No sweetling,” Eglantine told Obella. “If you three truly mean to be up at dawn you have to go to bed before you fall asleep on your feet.”

The girls reluctantly made their way to the lord’s door behind the dais, arm in arm and leaning on each other. Ser Arys joined them on the stair, just as they encountered Princess Arianne pulling away from a group of young women. They all but walked into each other, and Princess Arianne would have been knocked to the ground if Ser Arys hadn’t caught her by the waist.

The knight was spluttering apologies with colour rising in his cheeks, but Eglantine couldn’t help but notice the easy way his hand stayed on her hip as the princess righted herself. Rosamund and Obella giggled, but a sharp look from the septa silenced them.

“I’ve had far too much to drink,” Princess Arianne confessed quietly, “and I can’t seem to get out of here, no matter how hard I try.”

He nodded and helped her up the short flight of steps to the dais and through the door into a corridor brightly lit by dozens of beeswax candles. Eglantine and the girls followed behind them. The princess and the knight spoke to each other in quiet voices, but she seemed annoyed by his doting attention.

“No,” Princess Arianne said in response to something the septa hadn’t heard. “I’ll be alright once I get outside to clear my head.”

“Let me escort you,” he held out his arm to her expectantly.

“I’m more than capable of finding the outside myself,” she snapped.

Ser Arys looked as though she had struck him.

Princess Arianne seemed to regret her outburst. She took his arm and smiled. “Forgive me,” she said, “of course, I should be glad of the company.” That was all it took for the man to become as happy as Eglantine had ever seen him.

Princess Arianne turned her head back towards Myrcella and her companions, “Good night, girls,” she said.

“Good night, Princess Arianne!” Myrcella and Rosamund called as one as the princess and Ser Arys walked out of view. They fell into a storm of giggles.

“That’s enough, children,” Eglantine scolded. “Come along now.”

Ser Arys had left them with only Rolder and Godwyn for protection, but they made their way back to the Tower of the Sun without any incident. The peristyle walk was lit with lanterns and they passed more than a few people who had come outside to escape the noise and heat of the feast.

“I think Ser Arys is in love with Princess Arianne,” Rosamund said suddenly while they were crossing the courtyard. Myrcella started to giggle again. “You think so, too,” Rosamund continued, “I know it! Oh, wouldn’t it be splendid if they were married?”

“Don’t you know anything, Rosamund?” Myrcella asked between her giggles. “Ser Arys is a knight of the Kingsguard, he can’t ever wed.”

“I knew that,” Rosamund said, “I only meant wouldn’t it be splendid _if_ they married. She must be very sad that he can’t. He’s very handsome and gallant.”

It was Obella’s turn to giggle. “No, I’m sure Arianne doesn’t want to marry him,” she said. “She doesn’t want to marry anyone.”

Myrcella and Rosamund looked shocked. “I didn’t know that,” Myrcella said. “It can’t be true.”

“It is,” Obella assured her. “My uncle tried to find her a husband a few years ago, but she refused them all.”

“Your uncle, you mean the prince?” Myrcella asked. “Why would she refuse if that’s what the prince wanted?”

“She just doesn’t want to marry anyone, I suppose.” Obella shrugged, “My father never wanted to get married either.”

“But Princess Arianne couldn’t do that!” Myrcella said angrily. “She couldn’t...” she gestured towards Obella, “not be married.”

“Of course she could, if she wanted.”

“She’s a lady, and ladies don’t do that!”

“Why not?”

Eglantine had let this go on for far too long. “Myrcella, how could you speak about Princess Arianne like that, after how kind she’s been to you?”

“But it’s not true,” Myrcella said, “she does want to marry!”

“It’s not for you to say what the princess wants,” the septa told her. “And you Obella, I’m astonished that you would speak about the princess’s private concerns as though they were common gossip. The fact that you’re her cousin should make you more guarded with your words, not less.”

Both girls seemed devastated. “I’m sorry, septa,” Obella said. “I didn’t mean to be gossiping.”

“I don’t want to hear talk like this ever again.”

“No, septa,” Myrcella said.

They climbed the stairs to Myrcella’s rooms in silence. Serra and Alyssa helped all three of them out of their gowns and jewels and into linen sleeping shifts. They washed their faces and plaited each other’s hair.

Before they climbed into bed, the girls knelt down on the Myrish carpet to say their prayers, with their heads bent over their folded hands.

“What should we pray for?” Myrcella asked.

“For Prince Oberyn,” Eglantine said at once. “Pray that he has a safe journey.” The girls squeezed their eyes shut with the fervour of their prayer. “And for the king and the prince.”

“Should we pray for our mothers too?” asked Obella.

“Of course,” the septa agreed. “You should always pray for your mother.”

“And for Princess Arianne?” asked Myrcella.

“Yes,” she said. _She needs all our prayers_.

The children climbed under the bedclothes and Eglantine pulled the blankets up to their chins.

“Septa,” Myrcella said, “can you sing that song you used to sing to me and Tommen? The one about Rowan Gold-Tree?”

“You’re getting far too old for lullabies, my love,” Eglantine said. “You’ll be eleven soon.”

“But I want Obella to hear it.”

“I know that song,” Obella said. “My father sings it to us.”

Rosamund giggled, “You mean your mother.”

“No,” said Obella, “that’s my sister Dorea’s favourite song. And he sings us Six Sorrows, and Ten Thousands Ships Aflame, and...” she trailed off when Rosamund and Myrcella’s giggling reached a crescendo. “You mean your father never sang you lullabies?”

“Of course not,” Myrcella said. Rosamund shook her head.

“Did your father sing you lullabies, septa?”

Eglantine couldn’t bring herself to answer right away, she busied herself smoothing the sheets and tucking the ends under the feather mattress.

“No,” she said finally. “I was usually the one who sang the songs to my younger sisters.”

“I didn’t know you had any sisters,” Myrcella said.

“I’m sure I’ve mentioned them.” The shake of Myrcella head made her sadder than she could express. “There were six of us,” she said. “I was the eldest.”

“I think it must be one of your odd Dornish ideas,” Rosamund said.

“I think you Westerosi have much odder ideas.”

“But you’re Westerosi too,” Rosamund objected.

“No I’m not, I’m Dornish, you said so yourself.”

The girls had no more use for her, so she blew out all the candles and left them to their whispers and secrets. She saved one light to guide her way down the darkened corridors and staircases. Even that light she blew out as she gained the courtyard again and slinked like a large, graceless shadow past the glittering lords and ladies along the walk to the palace’s sept with its dome of leaded glass and its walls of painted tile. The light of the candles within made it glow as brilliantly as the lanterns.

Inside there was only Eglantine, and the Seven. She knelt before the altar of the Father and looked at His face. It was high above her and dark, and His eyes weren’t eyes, only shards of black glass set in plaster. She tried to pray, but all she could think of was the look in Harmen Uller’s eyes as he kissed Ellaria Sand on the brow.

By the time she left the sept the peristyle walk was all but empty and half the lanterns were burned out. She felt her way along the corridors in the Tower of the Sun with her hands, trying to avoid knocking into paintings and side tables as she moved along in the dark. Eglantine was about to turn into the staircase that would take her to her own chamber when she heard the unmistakable sound of sobbing. A woman’s sobbing, or a girl’s. She immediately thought of Myrcella and her broken little heart, and followed the sound to a door between two paintings of long dead heroes.

The room inside was some kind of housekeeper’s closet. There was a desk covered in papers, but also a shelf stuffed with linens and stacks of wax candles. And it wasn’t Myrcella who was there crying, it was the other princess.

Princess Arianne was standing in front of a small, narrow window with moonlight streaming through it. Her hair was half undone, she had taken out her hairnet and put it on the ledge of the window along with all her bracelets and her great ruby and white gold collar. She seemed even smaller than she was without them all. No bigger than Myrcella, in truth. Eglantine was about to close the door, to leave her to her tears, but some instinct stopped her.

The princess’s face was in her hands, so she hadn’t seen her. The septa had to cross the room and touch her on the shoulder to get her attention.

She jumped. “What?” Princess Arianne gasped, “how long have you been there?”

“I only… I heard something and I...”

“I think you enjoy sneaking up on people.”

“No.” Eglantine was more hurt by that than she should have been.

“It makes no matter, just leave me be.” She turned bodily away for the septa to stare out the window.

Eglantine knew she should obey, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave her alone in the dark, “You’re crying in a closet,” she said simply. The princess said nothing. “You’ve been wanting to shut yourself in a closet to cry all night.”

“Have I?” she asked. “It’s not your concern.”

“Yes, I know but...”

“You don’t have to pretend now,” she said. “You’ve told me what you really think of me. And who’s to say you’re wrong; the gods know there’s little enough in me for a person like you to admire.”

“That’s not true,” Eglantine told her, “I admire...” she paused to consider how to say it. “I admire how you always know what to say. You make everyone love you, and heed you.”

The princess made a sound that was both a laugh and a sob. “It’s all an act, you know.”

“Of course,” Eglantine said, “it’s always all an act.”

Arianne nodded, “And I have them all fooled,” she said with a smile full of self-loathing. “You and Myrcella, Lord Uller, and Alyse Ladybright, and Daemon, and Arys Oakheart. Even Tyene and my uncle. They all believe it. Everyone but him.”

She clutched her face and started to weep so hard that Eglantine feared for her. When she took her in her arms and placed her head on her shoulders she didn’t push away. Her tears soaked through the fabric of Eglantine’s robes.

“Oh child,” she said, “it will be alright. You’ll see.”

“No,” she said, “it won’t.”

No, perhaps not. Arianne was a woman grown, after all, and not a child in truth. It wasn’t so easy to lie to her.

“I know I was a disappointment to him,” she said in a small, sad voice, “but I always thought he loved me; why would he throw me away?”

Eglantine felt like there was a fist around her own heart. Before she knew it, there tears on her own cheeks. “I don’t know,” she said. What could she say? The Seven had lead her to this room, to give comfort, she was sure of that. But she wasn’t sure if she had the words. “You shouldn’t despair,” she said feebly, “you should have faith.”

“Faith?”

“Yes, only the Crone know what path you’re meant to follow,” she told her. “That path might not be what you think you want, but you should trust that She will light your way.”

The princess pulled away from her embrace. She looked up at her with red, puffy eyes that still managed to be fierce. “No,” she said, “I don’t need the Crone to tell me what my path is.”

“That’s vanity,” Eglantine said, but it wasn’t her who said it. It was Septa Anelle who spoke with her voice. And she didn’t know who had been speaking with Septa Anelle’s voice all those years ago in Ellyn Woodly’s cold novice cell. “It’s the gods who decide who we will be, not us.”

“No,” Arianne repeated determinedly, though tears were streaming down her face again, “I know what I am. I’ve always known. And if I’m not that, I’m nothing. I’d rather be dead.”

“You mustn’t say that,” Eglantine told her, “it’s blasphemous.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should care,” the septa said. “Only a fool would think she knows better than the gods. When They send misfortune you must accept it, because They know its purpose and you don’t.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” The princess’s voice was full of scorn. “Is that what you tell Myrcella?” She shook her head, “I don’t know how you live the way you do; have you ever had anything for yourself? Or do you always just come into people’s lives and stay there for a few years like a disapproving piece of furniture and then leave when you’re not wanted anymore, to start it all over some place else? Why in seven hells should I want to be like you?”

Eglantine was silent. She dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve.

The princess seemed horrified with herself, “Forgive me,” she said. “That was unkind.”

“No,” Eglantine said, “it’s true, I...” She thought of all the great lords’ seats that had been her home, for a year, or two, or ten. Where other women had been mistress and children who she had loved as her own daughters had grown up and left, never to be heard from again. “No, it was unkind,” she said. “Women like you always think that children raise themselves. That all you have to do is spend a quarter hour every day praising her embroidery and that’s what it means to love a child. You think because they adore you for every tiny scrap of care you show them that it’s somehow worth more than the years of soothed tears, and stern lessons, and the thousands of days when all you care about is her.” She wiped her tears away with the meat of her hand. “I may be a piece of furniture to you, but I know that what I do has real purpose. And that gives me peace.”

“Does it?” Arianne asked. “Does it make up for it? For being ignored and unloved?”

“Does what you have make up for it?” Eglantine asked her. “Do all your men and your fine clothes, and the masses of people who all but worship you give you peace, or make you forget that you’re unloved?”

She looked at Eglantine without scorn or anger. “Sometimes,” she said. “For a little while.”

“A very little while, I imagine.”

“Yes.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t try to forget. Perhaps you should accept that there are things you can’t change.”

“You’re right,” Princess Arianne said. “There are things I can’t change. I’m a princess of Dorne, nothing and no one can change that. That’s my purpose. There’s never been a moment when I wanted to be anything else.”

 _And what did I want to be?_ Eglantine asked herself. She couldn’t think of a single thing.

“And you think that if you get what you want, that will suddenly make you happy?”

“No,” she said at once.

“Then what will.”

“I don’t know,” she said resentfully. “Maybe I never will be.”

“Happiness comes from always doing your duty,” Eglantine said. She’d lost count of how many weeping girls she had said that to.

“Do you really believe that?” Arianne asked her.

 _No_ , she thought without hesitation, _I don’t think I ever believed it_. “Of course; why would you doubt it?”

“Because every time I lost something that made me happy, it was because I did my duty.”

“If that’s true, then why do you bother?”

She considered, “Because it’s who I am. Nothing else has ever mattered to me.”

“And you think that if you’re a perfect princess, or at least, if you make everyone believe that you’re a perfect princess, then that can make up for it.”

“Maybe it will.”

“It won’t,” Eglantine said. “Maybe nothing can.”

Princess Arianne nodded. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, though Eglantine suspected it was only herself she was trying to convince. “It doesn’t matter if he hates me. It doesn’t even matter if I hate myself. All that matters is that I do what I know is my duty. Princesses aren’t meant to be happy. They’re only meant to do their duty.”

Eglantine considered the princess carefully. She wasn’t crying anymore, no more than the septa was, but she didn’t seem very comforted.

“Not only princesses, child,” she told her. “All women.”

Septa Eglantine left her there, standing alone in that little room in the dark, while she found her bed. Dawn was only a few hours away, and she would be needed.


End file.
